


Devil's Backbone

by wickedarcher_08



Series: Saints of the Sinners [1]
Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band), One Direction (Band)
Genre: Action, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Blood and Violence, Blow Jobs, Cliffhangers, Comeplay, Drugs, Dry Humping, Enemies to Lovers, Facials, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Guns, Hate to Love, Illegal Activities, Jealous Harry, Kidnapping, Love/Hate, M/M, Mafia AU, Mafia Boss Louis, Mentions of sex trafficking, Minor Character Death, Murder, Slow Burn, Smut, Social elite Harry, Suspense, Torture, not Harry or Louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:08:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 124,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25822639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickedarcher_08/pseuds/wickedarcher_08
Summary: Louis is a mafia boss on an assignment while Harry is a social elite who is in the wrong place at the wrong time. One decision on Harry's part causes their paths to intertwine in a complex way neither of them could have imagined.______________Don't care if he's guilty, don't care if he's notHe's good and he's bad and he's all that I've gotOh Lord, Oh Lord, I'm begging you pleaseDon't take that sinner from me
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Luke Hemmings/Ashton Irwin
Series: Saints of the Sinners [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1873633
Comments: 191
Kudos: 155





	1. Disarm

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so excited to be sharing this fic with you, but I'm also nervous af. I went out of my comfort zone with this, which, well, nothing new there. 
> 
> I am going to warn you again, there is some major violence in this fic as well as some minor character death. Please keep in mind that these are fictional characters, and in no way reflects how I see Harry and Louis or any of the boys in real life. This is a work of fiction, nothing more. There is a torture scene, but none of the boys get tortured.This is also a part of series. There will be three parts to it, and I'm very excited. 
> 
> There is also a [Spotify Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1l6QjjLoOIRPOCgZt8d4YV?si=8kwH6LpvQzik8AfjPVMPIw) that will be updated weekly with the songs represented as chapter titles as well as any other songs I feel fit with the emotions/theme of the chapter. 
> 
> Last but not least, I would like to thank my two betas, Dana and Linda, for reading this fic and putting up with my constant questioning of my sanity. They are amazing friends, and I love them dearly. 
> 
> If you're interested in supporting me as a writer, please look at my [author website](https://lmarcherofficial.com/%20rel=). 
> 
> Now without further blabbering from me, seriously if you're still reading, I love you. Enjoy! xx

_I used to be a little boy_   
_So old in my shoes_   
_And what I choose is my choice_   
_What's a boy supposed to do?_   
_The killer in me, is the killer in you_   
_My love_   
_I send this smile over to you- The Civil Wars_

“Louis, you and Niall are going to enter the museum at exactly o’nine hundred hours. Six school buses full of rowdy children are set to arrive at exactly the same time. Blend in, look like chaperones,” Simon instructs, using a laser pointer to point out the entrance of the museum on the projector screen. At first, Louis thought it was funny. He would have never thought crime would be so high tech, but he supposes it has to be in order to move with the times. They have gotten three upgraded projectors since Louis has been allowed in these meetings. 

Simon clicks, the powerpoint switching to the floor map of the museum, three large red ‘X’s in various areas, “We need the art pieces from here, here, and here. This is what they look like, memorize them,” Simon says, clicking again to show them the art. Two are sculptures, and one is a painting. They must be super important if Simon is giving these instructions himself. He normally sends Louis the information and allows him to lead the meeting. 

Louis studies the three pieces of art, committing them to memory. He doesn't want to fuck this up since Simon is personally leading. He doesn't know why Simon has such an interest in this, but here they are. Simon usually takes a more direct role when it comes to an art heist. Louis has never been much for art. He usually doesn’t understand what is so artistic about paint blotches on a canvas, but Louis also isn’t spending his cash on it. To each their own, he supposes. He doesn’t question Simon’s desires, just does what he needs to. 

“You have exact replicas in your bags. Swap them when something inevitably happens with one of the children present. Don’t be seen,” Simon warns, then proceeds to give them more details of the layout, security guards, security features and timing. This is going to be complicated, but most of these heists are. They have to be aware of everything around them while acting perfectly normal. Louis and Niall are usually chosen because they are small and easily blend in with the crowd. Niall is also very good at creating a distraction or finding ways to block a camera while Louis does the swap. 

“Alright, boys. You know what to do. Ash and Luke are going to be in the van across the street. Luke will use his laptop to hijack the security cameras, playing a single portion on a loop so nothing suspicious is caught on film. Be quick though because the guard in the surveillance room could notice something is off. Ash will keep the van running, in case you need a quick get away, but I will assume that you won’t. Make me proud,” Simon says, clapping them both on the back. Louis smiles at the older man because he really does want to make him proud. He follows Ashton and Luke out of the room, Niall trailing behind him. When they get into the main room, Louis and Niall both grab their backpacks. Louis has the sculpture replicas, and he is assuming Niall has the painting they need. It’s small, so it shouldn’t be much of an issue. 

The four men then grab their handguns, Niall and Louis placing theirs in the holster under their armpits, covering them with a jacket. If they enter with the students, as planned, they won’t have to go through the security checks. Most museums don’t have them anyways, even if the art is worth hundreds of thousands of dollars. Louis doesn’t really understand why, but doesn’t question it since it makes his job so much easier. He’s normally in charge of art heists. He’s the lead. If something happens, Niall, Ashton and Luke have to follow his orders. 

“I am going to need to get more coffee if I am to deal with screaming children this morning,” Louis says, looking down at his mostly empty cup. Niall nods in understanding, and they stop by the kitchen area, filling up their cups with the brewed coffee that is always there. 

“You knew we would have to deal with screaming children, we've been scoping out the area for weeks now,” Ashton points out, jumping up on the counter. It is still early, they don’t need to be in a rush to leave. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Louis grumbles, taking a drink of his black coffee with sugar. It’s hot, but he doesn’t mind, his whole body warming up as it travels down his esophagus to settle in his stomach. 

“The boss man was in a better mood than I thought he’d be,” Ashton changes the subject, his large feet tapping against the cabinets of the counter. Luke walks over, laying his hand on Ashton’s knee, the other man’s feet stopping instantly. 

“Why would he be in a bad mood?” Luke asks, blond brows knitting together in confusion. 

“You remember that operation Solis and Mendez were supposed to do a few days ago?” Ashton asks, looking at Luke. The other man nods, and Louis decides to take over the story. 

“Yeah, well, they fucked up. They were supposed to hijack this truck, right? Well, Selley and his cronies beat them to it. Ole Uncle Simon was livid. He had Solis kneel and shot him in the back of the head because he thinks that Solis was working for Selley and giving him inside information. He also did it as a warning to everyone else to show what would happen if they dare cross him. Mendez is on drug duty for the rest of eternity probably, and we are supposed to keep an eye on him,” Louis tells him, shivering at the memory of blood splattering all over every available surface of the room, most landing on poor Mendez. Louis showered three times that night, scrubbing his skin raw just to feel clean again. He has seen it all before, but that doesn’t make it any easier. He continues to wear his mask of indifference in front of everyone else, though. 

“Ouch,” Luke responds, whistling low, tapping Ashton on the knee as he moves away, a silent signal that they had better get going. They talk amongst themselves as they follow Luke out of the room, heading towards the black, nondescript van they use for these types of operations. Louis lights up a cigarette as soon as they are outside, allowing the nicotine to flood his system, calming his nerves just a little bit as he continues to sip from his coffee cup. Outside it’s cold enough to see his breath, so they quickly make their way into the van. Ashton turns the ignition on, and Luke puts the heater on full blast as they sit in silence, waiting for it to defrost. 

The drive to the museum feels like it takes forever due to city traffic, and Louis can feel his entire body beginning to buzz from the mix of adrenaline and caffeine in his system. The best high Louis has ever felt is when he gets away with something he isn’t supposed to. They are all extremely calm given what they are about to do, but this isn’t Louis’ first rodeo. He has been doing this since he was fourteen, slowly working his way up in the organization until he somehow became Simon’s right hand man. He, Niall, Ashton and Luke usually go together, making a good team. Niall and Louis are both small enough to get into and out of tight spaces when necessary, then Luke is the brains and Ashton is the brawn. 

“Alright. We will be back in ten minutes, fifteen tops. You know the drill. Also, try to refrain from sucking each other off until we finish the job. I don’t wanna come back here to see either of your dicks hanging out,” Louis warns, prompting Ashton to bark out a loud laugh. Luke at least has the decency to look embarrassed, his cheeks beginning to turn a shade of red that has nothing to do with the heater that’s blowing in his face. Louis just shakes his head at Ashton, knowing that the man is almost impossible to embarrass.

“That was one time!” Luke exclaims, holding up a finger to signify the amount. Ashton laughs harder, and Louis can hear Niall chuckling as well. Louis just rolls his eyes with a smirk. He really isn’t all that bothered by it. He definitely wasn’t expecting to come out of a museum to find Luke sucking Asthon’s dick in their free time, but that is exactly what happened a few years ago. Louis has no idea if they are dating, or if they’ve just been getting their jollies off when they are bored for the last few years, and he has never asked. That’s an unspoken rule in their organization. 

“Doesn’t matter. I don’t give a fuck what you do in your free time, but there are children present,” Louis says, nodding towards the school buses that had just pulled up, right on schedule. He really doesn’t need them to get arrested for indecent exposure. 

“Aye, aye, sir,” Ashton responds, keeping his face serious as he nods and salutes, prompting Louis to roll his eyes yet again. He works with idiots.

“Fuck off,” Louis says, flipping his friend off. Ashton pretends to catch it, then blows Louis a kiss. Louis really fucking hates him. Luke already has his laptop on his lap, his long fingers flying over the keys, the tapping noise floating over his shoulder and back at Louis. Louis watches the screen for a few minutes, curious about this part of the operation. He knows the fundamentals and is able to hack into basic operating systems, but this one is a level above his knowledge. Luke makes it look easy, but he is a computer genius. 

“Okay. I’m in. I have it playing on a loop. Try to be quick, though. They could notice since it is supposed to be such high traffic today with the kids,” Luke tells him, looking back at Louis. Louis nods once. 

“Be ready,” Louis reiterates, as he and Niall make their way out of the van. His heart begins beating quickly as soon as he breathes in the crisp winter air. He flicks the butt of his cigarette into a nearby ashtray and shoves his hands in his jacket pockets, looking both ways as he and Niall cross the street. They find one of the groups of children that are making their way towards the front of the museum. They are all young, probably no older than seven, their loud squeals and laughter sending a pang through Louis’ chest, remembering his own sister at that age. He pushes that uncomfortable thought aside, choosing to focus on his surroundings. 

A pointed nosed woman with blond hair and glasses is counting heads, already looking overwhelmed. There are what looks to be parents forming a perimeter of sorts around the group. Louis smacks Niall on the arm, signaling him to go to the other side. Louis slides into position, pretending to be one of the chaperones. It’s easy enough; he is old enough to have a child this age. He tries to act as normal as possible as they make their way up the steps of the museum, but he is sort of holding his breath. The line is slow, children of all ages ahead of them. He glances over to check on Niall a few times, but his best friend isn’t acting at all out of character. He has even begun chatting to the little boy beside him, making him laugh. Louis allows himself a small smile because it’s just so Niall. 

“Pretty,” Louis hears a small voice beside him. He looks down, finding a blonde haired little girl looking at him with wide blue eyes. For a moment, he has a flashback of his own sister because the little girl resembles her quite a bit at that age. Louis swallows around the lump in his throat, reminding himself to breathe. That was another life. He hasn’t seen them in years, but that doesn’t stop the pain in his heart from missing her. Louis blinks at the little girl for a moment before he registers what she said, then she points at one of the sculptures standing outside of the museum. 

“Yes. It’s very pretty,” Louis agrees even though he really doesn’t know what it is supposed to be. It is large and made up of abstract shapes. Louis shakes his head because he will never, ever, understand art, and why people pay so much money for it. He doesn't question it though because it pays his bills. He doesn’t really know what else to say to her because he is out of practice with small children and the pain is almost too much to bear, bringing up far too many repressed memories. 

When one of the security guards begins eyeing him suspiciously, Louis tries not to panic. He does his best to keep his breathing normal and keep the tremor from his hand. He has never been caught, not even for a petty crime, and he refuses to start now. He keeps the security guard in his peripheral as he smiles at one of the children, trying to sell his chaperone cover convincingly. The guard is still eyeing him, stepping away from his spot, beginning to walk in Louis’ direction. 

Louis swallows, doing his best to act as normal as possible despite the fact that his heart is racing at the prospect of being caught. All he can think about is the gun currently residing under his arm, the heavy weight of it resting against his rib cage. He knows it is covered by his jacket, but the guard could ask to search him. Just as the guard is about to approach him, Louis feels a small hand in his own. He looks down to find the girl pulling on his hand, pointing at something in the museum. 

“Look! That lady is showing her boobies!” She exclaims pointing to a statue of a mostly naked woman just inside the doorway, prompting the other children around her to giggle. Louis burst out laughing, not expecting that at all. He tries to school his features as he looks down at her; she hasn’t let go of his hand. He racks his brain for an appropriate response, but he can’t really think of anything. Should he reprimand her for her use of language? Should he say it’s not polite to point, even though it is at a statue with no arms. Why couldn’t she have commented on the fact that the woman was armless instead of her breasts. 

“That statue is of an ancient Greek Goddess. They weren’t as modest as we are,” Louis tells her, deciding to go with something informational even though he just bullshited his way through that explanation. He has no idea if it is from ancient Greece or if it is a depiction of a goddess, but the little girl is nodding as if he is the bringer of knowledge. He thinks he remembers reading about it at some point, and from what he has learned about art over his years in this business, it looks like it could be from that period. 

The one good thing about the girl’s outburst is that it stopped the guard from pursuing him, probably assuming that she is his daughter. They do look somewhat alike, after all. He looks down at her and he almost regrets the life he chose. He always wanted children, a family. He loves them, but his line of work is far too dangerous to bring a child into it. It doesn’t stop the longing he feels throughout his entire body to have an actual family of his own, not one he made out of misfits and criminals. He loves his new family, but it’s just not the same. He would never say it out loud, though. 

Once inside, Louis and Niall hang back from their group, both quickly and discreetly watching the patterns of the security guards. They find the first sculpture on a white display. It is small, and Niall pretends to be reading the description as Louis bends to tie his shoe, grabbing the replica out of his backpack while he is hidden by the crowd of tiny shoes. When he stands up, Niall taps him on the shoulder three times in succession, a silent signal that he is safe from the eyes of the security guards. Right as the children’s attention is turned away to look at the next object nearby, Louis makes the switch. 

He holds his breath, his whole body vibrating with adrenaline as he waits for a scream of theft that never comes. He looks back to where the replica now sits, a new group of young humans admiring it as if it were real. Honestly, Louis wouldn’t know the difference. He keeps it under his jacket as they make their way to their next location. This one is much more difficult, Niall having to create a bit of a diversion for him to switch the small sculptures, but again, he is able to pull it off without anyone noticing, the swiveling security camera turned in the opposite direction as he swapped the art piece for a fake one. He knows they are on a loop however it’s better incase something happened, and Luke couldn’t override it for long. 

Louis takes a deep, calming breath as they make their way over to the final piece of art. Paintings are always very tricky because of the way they are on the wall. Louis prefers to break in at night to get them, so he has no idea why Simon chose today for them to make a swap. The museum is getting more and more crowded as they go along, the excited chatter of children all around them. This particular piece is tucked away in the corner of the room, and Louis can tell that it seems to be mostly unoccupied, the children preferring to look at other works or simply just don’t realize it’s there. 

As they get closer, Louis notices two figures sitting on a bench in front of the painting, and Louis sighs knowing that this will make their job that much more difficult. He surveys the situation, noting that one of the men has broad shoulders, a cream colored knitted sweater molding to the expanse of them. On top of his head is a large wide brimmed, cream colored hat the women at the Kentucky Derby would be envious of. Louis can see a few dark curls peeking out from beneath it. The other person is sitting stiffly beside him, his dark hair uncovered, and they are surrounded by bags with the word GUCCI printed on them in big, bold letters. 

Louis already hates this person. He hates the type. Rich and snobby with an air that screams ‘I’m better than you in every way, so don’t even try to talk to me’. Louis wouldn’t bother, if he didn’t need the painting that they are currently looking at, and time is running out. Louis glances at Niall who just shrugs. He contemplates leaving without it, but Simon really wanted that one therefore they have to at least try. They better have a damn good excuse if they come back without it, so Louis squares his shoulders, getting closer to them. 

Now that he can see his face, Louis hates him even more. He is unfairly pretty with clear skin and naturally red lips shaped into what Louis can only describe as a pouty smile. His jaw is sharp, as if chiseled from the marble that the statues around them are composed of. When he tilts his head up, looking in their direction, Louis can see the green of his eyes, even in the shadow of his rimmed hat. He is definitely well off, large expensive rings adorning almost every finger. His cream colored shoes are shiny, as if licked clean by the gods themselves. Louis hates his dick for twitching in his jeans because he doesn’t want to be attracted to someone who is so obviously in a different social class than himself. Someone that probably hates him for just existing. 

“I’ll distract them while you make the swap,” Louis whispers to Niall, rolling up the sleeves of his jacket, allowing the tattoos littering his forearms to peek through. Maybe the guy has a thing for tattoos and bad boys. Louis doubts it, but he can play a part if he needs to. He just needs to distract them long enough for Niall to do his job. Louis can totally be the flirt if the occasion calls for it. Louis almost chokes when he finally approaches the man, the smell of expensive cologne hitting his nostrils, making his dick stand to attention. Vanilla and tobacco. Louis would drop to his knees then and there, but he is pretty sure the man wouldn’t want to get his dick wet with the slobber of someone so far beneath him. His loss. 

Louis has no idea how to talk to him, so he just decides to bump into him as a way to start a conversation. He tries to make it look like an accident as his hip nudges the other man’s shoulder. He freezes when green eyes snap up to find him again, looking angry this time under the wide brim of his cream colored hat. They are much brighter now that they aren’t in the shadow of the ugly headpiece, and Louis doesn’t really know what to do other than stare. “Oops,” he gets out, by way of apology, hoping it comes off cute and playful. 

“Please, watch where you are going next time. This sweater was very expensive, and I’m sure you don’t have the money to pay for my dry cleaning bill if you were to get something on it,” he says, his tone condescending, regardless of the fact that Louis could probably come from the sound of his voice alone. Deep and gravely, a cadence to his speech pattern that wraps around Louis’ skin like slow moving molasses. One would think he would have seen something moving so slowly coming, but he didn’t. He feels like he is hit in the face with it. Then the words sink in, penetrating his molasses like voice. What an asshole. 

“That’s funny. I’m pretty sure I saw a little girl over there wearing the exact same sweater. Her mom probably bought it from the Disney store on sale for twenty three bucks. If you paid more than that, I’m afraid you were ripped off,” Louis responds, looking down at the Mickey Mouse design as he points to some random place in the museum where he definitely did not see a kid wearing a Mickey Mouse sweater. It garners the appropriate reaction, though. The man is looking downright offended by his statement, his pink lips open in shock, stuck on a response, while his large hands come up into the air. Louis tries not to stare at them, too many thoughts about what he would like to do with them floating through his brain. Instead, he settles for a smirk, and he thinks that just makes the man angrier. 

__________

“Here Liam,” Harry says, handing his assistant yet another bag once it is passed to him by the sales representative. The gold GUCCI logo gleams in the low light of the shop. They had opened early just for Harry, and he made it worth their while, leaving the store with almost more bags than Liam could carry. Liam will just have to deal with it though because that is what Harry pays him for, after all. The other man nods, taking the bag from Harry without so much as a word in protest. 

“What would you like to do before lunch?” Liam asks, Harry looking down at his watch noting that it is fifteen minutes until 9. Harry has always been a morning person though, preferring to wake up when the sun rises to do yoga. He does his best thinking in the morning, often working on his writing or photography in the early hours.

“I would like to go to the art gallery down the street,” Harry responds, leading them in that direction. Liam follows quietly. They aren’t very far from it, so the walk is quick. The entrance is deserted this early in the morning, and Harry soaks it in. He and Liam make their way inside, Harry stopping to look at some art pieces, and Liam follows quietly behind him like the dutiful assistant he is. 

“This is lovely,” Harry says, his steps halting in the corner of the room where an abstract painting is hanging on the wall. Even though it’s small, it is full of bright colors and intricate shapes. 

“It is,” Liam agrees. “Similar to the one you have in your hallway on the second floor.” Harry nods and smiles at Liam because it actually is by the same artist. He would recognize the brush strokes and use of colors anywhere. Harry wishes he could touch it, but refrains, knowing that he isn’t allowed. He just loves touching art. It makes him feel more connected to the artist somehow, and it helps him understand it better. He knows it sounds crazy, but the pieces speak to him through his fingers, almost like an instrument. Brush strokes are really the same as the strings on a guitar, telling a story as they are played. 

Harry is startled by the loud shriek of a small child. He drags his eyes away from the painting long enough to realize that the museum is now flooded with what seems to be every young person from the entire city. Harry is immediately annoyed by their presence. He knows it is important to introduce children to art at a young age, but half of them will never grow to actually appreciate it, let alone afford it. They will probably just try to get their grubby little hands all over it today, possibly ruining priceless objects. Harry sighs, deciding to try to ignore their excited shouts in favor of having a somewhat decent time, even though his quiet is now completely disturbed, and he most likely won’t get it back for the remainder of his visit. 

“You just got an email from your agent. The photographer needed to cancel your shoot tomorrow. He said they may try to reschedule in the upcoming weeks,” Liam tells him, looking down at his phone snapping Harry out of his thoughts about his noisy surroundings. Disappointment floods Harry’s system. He was really looking forward to that. It was his first big shoot in almost a year, the last one having been in Brazil. 

“Okay, I suppose that’s fine. Just let me know when they reschedule it. Also, call the chef and tell her that I request her services for the next few days since my schedule is suddenly open,” Harry replies, trying to keep the sound of defeat from his voice. He doesn’t think he succeeds since Liam is looking at him worriedly. Harry sits down on the bench behind him that is provided to view the painting. He doesn’t make eye contact with Liam. He can see that another man has joined him out of his peripheral vision, though. 

“I will. I’m sorry that they canceled, though. I know how much you want your modeling career to work out,” Liam says, his voice soft and sincere. Harry sighs again, deciding to tell Liam the thoughts in his head. Liam is the closest thing he has to a friend even though he pays him. When he isn’t with Liam, he spends most of his days alone. If it wasn't for Liam, Harry probably would have very little contact with people in general, other than the sales representatives at the various stores he shops at. He has a chef and maid that comes to his house every day, but they prefer to keep to themselves. He doesn’t even really see them, just sees the results of their work. He will never admit that he is lonely, even though he feels pathetic having to pay someone to be his friend. 

“That’s the problem, Liam. I’m not sure I care if this modeling thing works out. I mean, I like it. I enjoy fashion and art. It’s a great way to merge the two however I really just want to prove to my family that I’m not a useless excuse for a son. My dad already hates me, thinking that all I do is live off my trust fund, which I suppose is true. He wanted me to go into the family business, but I have no interest in being the CEO of a company when I don’t even know what his company does. I guess I just want to prove to them that I’m not useless,” Harry confides, his voice quiet under the noises of the large group now gathered in the museum. 

“You haven’t really spoken to your parents in years. How would they even know what you are doing?” Liam asks. 

“They know. I’m pretty sure they have people watching my every move. They know exactly what I am doing,” Harry tells him, his voice dejected. He should be used to it by now, but he isn’t. He has spoken to his mom, usually getting a call from her every six months pressuring him to talk to his dad about the business. He never does. He refuses, but it puts a huge strain on their relationship. That’s all she ever wants to talk about, but she always seems to know intimate details of his life. It makes him not want to hear from her at all, anxious every time he speaks to her about the subjects she inevitably brings up. Thankfully he has another three or four months before that conversation will come up again. 

“But why do you care?” Liam asks next, and that has Harry stopping to consider it. The truth is though, that he doesn't actually know why he cares. He just… does. He was told all his life that he would have to carry on the family business, but he was never interested in business. His heart has always pushed him towards the arts, to create. 

“I don’t know. I guess I just feel like I am a disappointment to them when they have only ever given me whatever I wanted. They want me to run the business. I refuse to give that to them, and I guess I feel somewhat guilty about it. I just want to prove to them that I don’t _need_ their money to be successful,” Harry admits even though he does need their money. If it wasn’t for their money, he wouldn’t have his nice house, his art, anything. He has a college education, but it isn’t really useful, having chosen to earn a degree in art history. He could not afford his current lifestyle with any of the career paths that his chocen degree would have let to. 

“That makes sense, I suppose,” Liam responds, and Harry can hear the pity in his voice. They sit in silence for a few moments, Harry not really knowing how to respond. He is surrounded by people, the noise from unknown voices floating around him but not touching him. He has never felt so lonely. Harry’s body is jolted forward by some unknown object, snapping him from his melancholy. He is immediately angered, his thoughts already somewhat dark. 

“Oops,” a raspy voice says, right as Harry looks up to find a blue eyed boy looking down at him, not seeming to be the least bit sorry. Oops? What kind of apology is ‘oops’ anyways? That word makes Harry even more irritated. The man is short, with shiny brown hair falling into his too blue eyes. His face is clean shaven and quite breathtaking with high cheekbones. The kind of face that sculptors would find inspiration in. Harry takes in the rest of his appearance, a black jacket with the sleeves rolled up, showing forearms littered with random tattoos. Most look like prison tattoos, with shaky lines and bad shading. Harry barely suppresses a grimace, finding tattoos trashy. 

“Please, watch where you are going next time. This sweater was very expensive, and I’m sure you don’t have the money to pay for my dry cleaning bill if you were to get something on it.” Harry keeps his tone condescending, placing a hint of disgust in it in hopes that the man will cower. He doesn’t. In fact, his ocean blue eyes narrow as he looks down at Harry through ridiculously long eyelashes. Harry hates that his cock is responding, but he hasn’t gotten laid in ages. This guy is definitely not his type though. Far too… economically challenged. 

“That’s funny. I’m pretty sure I saw a little girl over there wearing the exact same sweater. Her mom probably bought it from the Disney store on sale for twenty three bucks. If you paid more than that, I’m afraid you were ripped off,” the man responds, his eyes flicking down to Harry’s sweater then back up. Harry’s mouth pops open in offence, his hands automatically flying up in the air with shock. Who does this man think he is? He doesn't even look upset by Harry’s reaction, smirking, and Harry is legitimately angry now. 

“You clearly wouldn’t know Gucci if François Pinault walked up to you and introduced himself. What brand is that? Dumpster?” Harry asks, pointing at the jacket on the man’s slim frame. He glances down at his outfit, eyes coming back slanted. Harry knows he struck a nerve, but he doesn’t care. He is trying to enjoy the art surrounding him, and as much as this man looks like his face could be hanging in this gallery, he is ruining Harry’s good time. 

“This brand is actually called ‘fuck off’, and it is made by yours truly. Much too expensive for your budget. You have to pay for it in kindness and generosity. Something that a narcissistic person like yourself could never afford.” Harry is so taken aback by the response, he can’t stop his features from morphing into a surprised ‘o’. The man is smirking again, and Harry wants to both smack him and swoon. His teeth are straight and white, mouth firm and pink. He shouldn’t be that attractive. Harry has never wanted to physically harm anyone in his entire life, a pacifist by nature, but his blood is boiling. This man has no idea who he is and whether or not he gives money to charity. 

“Will you please move? You are blocking my view of something important,” Harry says, deciding to drop the subject matter altogether before he does something completely out of character. He tries to crane his head to look over the man’s shoulder, but he moves back into his eye line twice. On the third time, Harry moves quick enough to see a brunette man grabbing the painting off the wall, quickly hanging one that looks just like it in its place. 

“Hey. What are you doing?” Harry exclaims, but no one seems to hear him over the loud chatter of the children around them. Well no one except Liam and the man that has been bothering Harry. The thief turns around with wide eyes, glancing between the three of them. 

“Tommo,” he says, nodding in Harry’s direction. Harry begins to protest, but his mouth quickly snaps shut when the annoying man in front of him opens his jacket flashing a handgun that’s sitting in a holster snug against his ribs. His small hand is on it in an instant, but he doesn’t draw. His blue eyes seem to be both watching Harry and Liam while also surveying the room around them. Harry looks around in panic, but nobody seems to be paying them any attention. The only security guard in the room is currently holding two young boys by the shirt collars, talking to them in a stern voice. 

“If you speak, you will be shot, then you really will have to worry about getting a stain out of your ridiculously priced Prada sweater,” Tommo threatens, keeping his voice low and even, his eyes showing the severity of their situation. Harry swallows the scream of ‘It’s Gucci you uncultured swine’ because being shot by a thief is not on his list of things to do, ever. “Now, you both are going to get up very slowly and naturally. We are going to go towards the exit casually. If either of you so much as makes a peep you will be eating a bullet for brunch.” 

Harry swallows, slowly getting up from the bench. He watches Liam grab his bags, Tommo’s accomplice following very quickly behind him. Next he feels a small hand thread through his arm, hooking their elbows, and Harry almost melts into the touch. He would have if it wasn't for the hard barrel of the handgun digging into his side. He tries to find someone, anyone, that may be paying attention to them, but every single adult in the room seems to be distracted in one way or another by a small child. Harry hates children. 

“I’m sorry. I really didn’t want to have to do this, but you’ve seen too much,” Tommo says, and Harry glances at him. He is smiling as if he doesn’t have a gun pointed at Harry. “I told you to act natural.” He tightens his grip on Harry’s arm with the command. 

“You’re disgusting,” Harry responds, then laughs as if Tommo said something hilarious. He hears the tinkle of the other man’s laughter a moment later, and Harry is surprised by it for some reason. It is obviously fake, but Harry can hear a hint of what it would really sound like if he meant it, and for some reason, he finds that he would very much like to hear the real version. The one that isn’t tainted by the situation, threaded with deceit. 

“You don’t even know me,” Tommo defends, as they make their way through the exit. It is practically deserted outside of the building, and Tommo digs his gun in harder, a silent threat to stay quiet. Harry bites his tongue, not really seeing anyone that could help him at all. They cross the street quickly, the door of a van with zero identifying markers opening up on their arrival. Two men are sitting in it, the blue eyes of the passenger open wide in shock. 

“What the fuck happened?” The driver asks, a stray dark curl from his slicked back hair falling onto his forehead. Harry feels a sudden cold breeze on his head and is surprised to see his beautiful hat in Tommo’s hand. 

“Hey! Be careful with that. It cost more than your entire existence,” Harry cries, outraged. Tommo rolls his eyes, throwing it into the van ignoring Harry’s shocked gasp. He doesn’t even see where his beloved hat lands, but he is sure it’s nowhere clean. Do these people have any idea how much it will cost to get a cream colored, designer hat dry cleaned? 

“They saw Niall swap the painting. They would have been able to provide a good description of me as well, so we were forced to bring them with us,” Tommo informs, completely ignoring Harry in favor of answering his accomplice. He is still holding Harry with a firm grip as Liam and Niall make their way into the van, the bags crinkling as they do so. Harry hopes that his brand new clothes aren’t going to get wrinkled from all of this. He pushes Harry to follow after them, taking the middle section of seats. At least the van is warm, but that does nothing to ease the severity of the situation. He tries to look back at Liam. His brown eyes are wide in fear, his mouth staying shut. 

“Shit. What if someone saw you?” The passenger asks, turning around to look at them. He has a computer on his lap, and Harry assumes he was using it to hack into the security cameras. He has no idea why someone smart enough to pull that off would be hanging out with lowlifes, but Harry doesn’t really care to question it. Wasted potential and all of that. 

“They didn’t. We both kept our faces down or our backs to them at all times. They might be able to get a general height and maybe a hair color at best. We aren’t stupid,” Tommo supplies, and Harry very much doubts that sentence. They are all probably stupid, except maybe the passenger, but Harry has already decided that he is wasted potential. If they are in the business of organized crime, then they probably aren't very smart. 

“Security guards?” The driver checks, looking at the front of the museum. Harry silently watches as Tommo hands Niall one of the ropes he seems to have pulled out of thin air. What are the going to do with that? 

“Negative. They were all preoccupied with bratty snot-nosed kiddos. They weren’t paying attention at all,” Niall responds, looking at them from his seat in the back of the van. 

“Turn around,” Tommo instructs, but doesn’t give Harry a moment to obey. He feels small, strong hands on his shoulder, pulling him into position. He yanks Harry’s hands behind his back, the next moment, Harry feels the unmistakable nylon material of a rope around his wrists. Tommo makes quick work of the restraints, tying them tight enough so Harry won’t be able to get out, but loose enough to where they aren’t cutting off his blood flow. Harry wonders how often Tommo has tied people up. He turns Harry back around, so that he is facing forward a moment later, something black in his hands. 

“Fuck. What is Simon going to do?” The passenger asks, looking between Harry and Liam with sad eyes. Who is Simon? Is he their boss or something? Fear floods Harry’s system. Has he somehow found his way into a crime organization? Tears prickle Harry’s eyes with the realization that no one would even know him to be missing. They wouldn’t report it because he is alone in the world. The only person that would notice his absence is currently sitting behind him, also being kidnapped. His mom isn’t set to call for another four months, and by then, it will be too late. His trail would have run cold, not that she would care if he was missing. He is doomed.

Tommo’s hands come up quickly, holding a dark object. Harry’s world goes black a moment later, an overwhelming sense of hopelessness coming along with the darkness. Tommo has placed a hood over his head, tying it off in the back, putting a small amount of pressure on his neck. Harry feels as though he is suffocating, not getting enough air into his lungs. The air he does manage to inhale smells bad, but Harry is too choked on panic to complain. He feels the wetness on his cheeks, the dark material soaking it up. A moment later, he hears Tommo’s reply, sending a cold chill down his spine, “Dunno. I wouldn't even tell him if he wasn't so invested in this particular heist. He will probably kill ‘em.”


	2. The Liars Club

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis and Niall have a conversation with Simon as Harry and Liam contemplates their situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick thank my two betas, Dana and Linda, for reading this fic and putting up with my constant questioning of my sanity. They are amazing friends, and I love them dearly. 
> 
> If you're interested in supporting me as a writer, please look at my [author website](https://lmarcherofficial.com/%20rel=). 
> 
> There is also a [Spotify Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1l6QjjLoOIRPOCgZt8d4YV?si=8kwH6LpvQzik8AfjPVMPIw) that will be updated weekly with the songs represented as chapter titles as well as any other songs I feel fit with the emotions/theme of the chapter. 
> 
> This story is a slow burn, so don't get mad at me when it's slow lol. Enjoy! xx

_And the sharks in the water make me realize that death is real_   
_And there's nothing at all that makes you feel as small as dying will_   
_And ghosts have a way to make regrets feel so alive_   
_But it's the death in us all that keep the hopes of finding something better- Amigo the Devil_

“So you’re telling me, I sent you on a simple fucking art heist, and you come back with the art _and_ two prisoners who are also witnesses?” Simon asks, his arms crossed in front of his chest. His voice is calm, but Louis knows him well enough to hear the inflections of furor woven throughout the syllables like strands of thread through an intricate tapestry. His heart is racing, and his mouth is dry. He tries desperately not to squirm, but the uncomfortable feeling of anxiety is eating at his gut, as he wills himself to stay motionless.

“Yes, sir. They were both sitting in front of the painting. I tried to distract them while Niall was doing the swap, but the taller one looked over my shoulder before I was able to move and block his view,” Louis explains, maintaining eye contact with the older man even though he very much wants to look away. Simon stares at them with squinted, beady eyes for what feels like an eternity. Louis knows he likes to watch them squirm, but Louis refuses. He can feel Niall shifting beside him, fidgeting with discomfort. Louis doesn’t take his eyes away from Simon’s gaze, though, keeping his posture stiff. He didn’t climb up in the ranks for no reason. 

“Well, it’s lucky for you two that one of the witnesses just so happens to be from a wealthy family,” Simon breaks the silence, his somewhat nasally voice reverberating throughout the large office. Louis allows his words to sink in, relief flooding his veins. Maybe Simon won’t kill them, then. Louis has tried to harden his heart to that particular part of his job. He has seen a lot of violence in his short life. He has both dealt it and been on the receiving end, but it still doesn’t make it any easier. He hates himself for having killed people. He will never rid himself from the memories of watching the light leave a person’s eyes forever.

“Which one?” Louis can’t stop the question from leaving his lips, and he hopes he doesn’t come across as too desperate. He just needs to know for sure which of the two it is, and Louis isn’t ready to properly analyze why. If he had to guess which of the two was the well off one, it would be Mr. Mickey Mouse Sweater. The one that Louis hates but also kind of wants to blow. He’s a pretentious asshole, but he’s a cute pretentious asshole with very fuckable lips. Louis has eyes, afterall. 

“The taller one. His name is Harry Styles, and his family is worth a fortune. I am going to ransom him,” Simon reveals, his thin lips curving into an evil smirk. Louis can practically see the dollar signs in the reflection of his dark eyes. He wracks his brain for the name Harry Styles but comes up with nothing. He doesn't even recognize the surname ‘Styles’. Simon knows every rich family in the world it seems, so Louis doesn’t question it. Just nods his head. 

“What about the other one?” Niall asks, voice hesitant. Louis glances over, as Niall tries to mask the worry on his face. Louis can see it in his eyes, though. Niall feels the same way as Louis. He hates the violence that their jobs entail, but they do it to survive. Louis has never killed anyone that was innocent. The fact of the matter is, some people deserve to die. Some people aren’t worth the air they breathe. They contribute nothing to society. They are pure evil, a wart on the big toe of humanity, a nuisance on the best of days, an infection on the worst. Innocent people never deserve to die. He has only ever killed horrible people. The people that are disgusting and get their jollies off on the atrocities of society. That fact is the only thing that allows him to sleep at night. 

“I was going to have Brown kill him,” Simon answers with a nonchalance that Louis should be used to. Louis masks his reaction quickly, wracking his brain for a way to get Simon to spare the poor man. It’s not his fault he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. It’s not Harry’s either, but his money will get him out of it. Not surprising. Money talks in the world they live in, and Harry seems to have a lot of it. Louis will never be able to relate, having grown up on the streets. He assumes that the other man is his assistant of some sort, since he was carrying all the bags which obviously belonged to Harry. 

“I think you should let him live for a little while longer, sir,” Louis says, his voice wavering only slightly. He belittles himself for that, knowing that he has to show nothing but confidence when speaking to Simon. It will keep him alive. He stills himself, placing his hands behind his back again to force his spine straight. Not for the first time, he hopes that Simon doesn’t have super sonic hearing or some shit because his heart is beating rapidly in his chest. 

“Why’s that?” Simon asks, his face skeptical. Louis swallows, his throat feeling like sandpaper, as he goes through every possible excuse in his brain that may work to keep the other guy alive. He knows he shouldn’t keep Simon waiting for his answer. Each passing second gives him less of a chance to convince Simon to not kill the other man. Fuck. He needs to think fast. 

“Because-- um-- we don’t know who he is. He could be someone that is just as rich as Styles. Those types tend to hang out together anyways. We may be able to ransom him as well, but we can’t do that if he’s dead,” Louis blurts out, the idea hitting him like a train to the gut. He holds his breath as he watches Simon consider Louis’ reasoning. Louis prays to a God he very much doubts exists that Simon will agree. It seems like it is taking forever for his boss to come to a decision, and Louis can feel the tension radiating off of Niall in waves. 

“That’s a fair point,” Simon finally concedes, pointing at Louis with one long finger. Louis lets out the breath he had been holding slowly, not wanting Simon to know that he was nervous. He does allow his posture to relax a little, while Niall slumps completely. Niall really should be better at this after all these years, but Niall is a softie at heart. He also is the type that chooses not to make waves, he just rides the ones that Louis’ makes. He really is his best friend after all. 

“Hopefully he had an ID in his wallet. Have Hemmings find out who he is, and what he does. Also, get a picture of Styles with the Polaroid camera, so it can’t be traced. Have him hold a newspaper with today’s date on it or something to signify that it isn’t old. I’ll have Irwin call with a burner phone and a voice distorter to deliver the message, then send the photo with instructions to their house,” Simon plans, nodding his head as if it is ingenious. It really isn't. Louis is pretty sure he has seen that exact plot in every kidnapping movie ever, and it’s the same one Simon has always done for as long as Louis has known him. He doesn’t say any of that though, biting his tongue to keep the sarcastic remark inside his mouth even though it is bursting to get out. 

“What should we do with them in the meantime?” Niall asks, and Louis dreads the answer. He really doesn’t want to spend anymore time around the pompous dickwad than he has to. He just wants him out of his hair and to be done with the situation. Hopefully his family answers quickly. 

“You are both to keep an eye on them. I haven’t quite decided what I am going to do, but while here, they need to be under 24 hour surveillance. I trust both of you to ensure that this happens. Got it?” Simon asks, and Louis can hear the veiled threat in his words. Damn it. Louis has the worst luck ever. He already knew that, though. Has for over ten years. If it wasn’t for bad luck, Louis would have no luck at all. 

“Yes, Sir,” Louis and Niall respond simultaneously, nodding their heads, even though Louis desperately wants to protest. He wants to tell Simon to get one of his other minions to do it. Ashton and Luke don’t have lives other than fucking each other when they think no one is looking. They could easily do it, but Niall and Louis have shit they have to do. Things that are expected of them within the organization. Louis himself oversees a few teams, having to plan and organize various operations before Simon’s final approval. This is a business after all, and Louis is practically the vice president. He doesn’t have time to babysit a fucking spoiled brat. 

“Dismissed.” Simon waves his hand and relief floods Louis’ system. They are lucky that one of the witnesses was useful, or else he is sure they would have suffered Simon’s fury. They would have gotten rid of them, but still it is a lot of work to cover their tracks. Simon would have also punished them probably, which is never fun. He can definitely be cruel if someone is on his bad side, a position that Louis does not intend to ever be in. He has seen first hand what the bad side of Simon looks like, and he never wants to be on the losing end. 

Louis and Niall are quiet as they make their way out of Simon’s office, breathing for the first time in what feels like hours. Louis’ body physically slumps as soon as the door is firmly shut behind him, a sigh escaping Niall’s lips a moment later. Louis hates those types of meetings. He never knows if he is going to come out of them unharmed. He has always been loyal to Simon though, so he doesn't see why he would ever punish him, however, he has witnessed Simon punish people for less. 

They don’t say anything as they make their way down the hallway, quickly finding Ashton and Luke standing outside of the room Harry and his friend are being held in. They are talking, Luke’s loud laughter at whatever Ashton said floating down the corridor. Louis is sure it wasn’t that funny, but Luke laughs at everything that comes out of Ashton’s mouth. It’s disgusting really. Ashton smacks Luke on the arm when he sees them coming, the smile quickly falling from Luke’s face. 

“What did you find out about them?” Louis asks as soon as they are close enough. He keeps his voice down, not wanting anyone he doesn't trust to overhear them. Really the only people he trusts are the three men standing around him, and Simon somewhat. 

“Harry Edward Styles. Son of Desmond and Anne Styles. Desmond is the CEO of some sort of company. Couldn’t really find much on it, which is strange. Harry seems to be a trust fund baby. He has a sister named Gemma who is older. He earned an Art History degree from Columbia University. He is 25 years old, birthday February 1st. He doesn’t really do much. He has had some modeling gigs here and there, but nothing substantial. He doesn’t show up in the papers with his family as much, seems to be somewhat estranged. He lives alone,” Luke informs, and Louis tosses that information around in his head. 

He wonders what happened between him and his wealthy family for him to not want to remain in contact with them. He hopes this doesn’t throw a wrench in their plan. Even if he isn’t close with them, they will still probably pay for his freedom. He tries not to feel sorry for the spoiled brat. He must be so lonely living by himself. Louis supposes that money can’t always buy happiness, as the old saying goes, nor can it buy friends. He doesn’t seem to have anybody at all, which makes their job a lot easier. If there is no one looking for him now that he is missing, then they don’t have to worry as much about concealing him. They still need to be careful, but it won’t be as difficult. 

“What about the other one?” Niall asks, voice uncertain. 

“Liam James Payne. He is just Harry’s assistant it seems. He lives in Harry’s guest house, I believe. Seems to be the person closest to him. Couldn’t really find much on his family or any nearby relatives,” Ashton tells him; Louis nods, chewing on his lip in thought. 

“Don’t tell that to the boss man, and keep an eye on the footage from their holding cell. If either of them say what he does for a living, then conveniently obstruct that part of the tape. If Simon or anyone else asks, tell him that Liam is Harry’s cousin or some shit,” Louis says, thinking about their appearances. It could work. Liam has dark hair and a greenish tint to his brown eyes. Ashton and Luke nod once, understanding exactly what Louis needs them to do. One of the reasons they all get along so well is because they can’t stomach the violence the others in their organization seem to thrive off of. They do what they must to survive, however they don’t like seeing innocent people die by their hands. Liam is definitely innocent in all of this. 

“Will do. I’ll keep digging, though. It’s odd that I literally couldn’t find anything on him before he became Harry’s assistant,” Luke says, and Louis has to agree. Luke is a computer wiz, and if he can’t find anything, then either it doesn’t exist, or someone went to great lengths to cover it up. Why would someone want to cover the origins of a person who is almost irrelevant? Louis is curious, but pushes that thought to the back of his mind. 

“Can you stand guard a little while longer? Me and Ni have to go out and get a few things, then we can take over,” Louis tells them, looking between the two. He may give Ashton and Luke a lot of shit for acting like love sick puppies, but he trusts them with his life. There are very few people Louis would say that about, in fact, the only others he can think of is Niall and probably Simon. His boss may be a dick, but he has helped Louis more than he can ever thank him for, therefore Louis does trust him. 

“Yeah, ‘course man. We can keep ourselves entertained,” Luke responds, smiling at them, then winking at Ashton. The other man doesn’t say anything, just clears his throat and licks his lips. Louis just rolls his eyes. 

“I’m sure you can, but please keep the ‘entertaining’ to this general area. You’re supposed to be guarding the door.” Louis uses four small fingers to put air quotes around the word then waves around the hallways with his hands, as if he is Vanna White revealing a letter. Niall snorts on a laugh, and Louis allows himself to smile. Niall’s laugh is infectious, and he laughs easily and often. It's a breath of fresh air in their line of work. “We will be back as soon as possible. Shouldn’t take long. Want anything?” Louis asks, already beginning to back away. 

“Yeah. Can you grab us some lunch? McDonalds or something would be fine. We’re both starving,” Ashton requests. Louis’ own stomach growls at that, and he knows Niall likes the idea. Niall loves to eat. 

“Yeah, sure thing. Anything you want in particular?” Louis already knows what he will order, his mouth watering at the thought. All he has ingested today is coffee, so fast food sounds glorious. It is definitely time for lunch, the morning heist taking much longer than he had originally intended. Fucking rich people. 

“Surprise us. You know what we like, sweet cheeks,” Ashton says, playfully slapping Louis’ ass. Louis tries to dodge it, laughing at the action. When Luke lets out a cry of offence, Louis laughs even harder, Niall joining him. Louis winks at Ashton, always willing to pretend to flirt back, it’s a thing they do. He’s not sure if Luke takes it seriously or not, but Luke has never said anything to him about it. He then grabs Niall’s elbow, turning him around. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Louis responds, walking down the hallway, towards the exit. This is going to be a long ass day. 

__________

“Are they going to kill us?” Liam asks, his voice scared. Harry looks over to find that his eyes are just as terrified, shiny with unshed tears. Harry is trying not to think about it, though. He knows it is unhealthy, but he feels hopeless when he thinks about it. He has accomplished nothing in his life. He thought he would do so much more before he died, but now he feels like his death is imminent. He has almost accepted it. 

Harry has never really considered his own death, but in the past few hours it has felt very, very real. That’s all he has been able to think about, and it scares him. Death is scary because it is unknown. He also realizes that death is lonely, which is poetic in a way since the life he has led up until his death has been filled with emptiness. Just objects and things, and Harry can’t take those with him when he dies. Nothing goes with him. He has spent all this time trying to keep his body healthy, but in the end, it doesn’t matter. He can’t take that with him either. 

He knows Liam is currently with him, and will probably be there when he dies. He may even die alongside him, but that doesn't remove the loneliness of the dying. Death can only be experienced alone, and Harry has never felt such hopelessness. He’s angry. He has lived his life as a good person. He doesn't deserve any of this, but the evil people around him are real. They don’t care about innocence. 

He suddenly feels very small in the world, almost obsolete. He means nothing to no one. No one will care about his imminent death, and Harry is having to come to terms with it. No one will be sad when he dies at the hand of these cruel people. No one will even rejoice because Harry has as many enemies as he has friends. He doesn’t make waves. Does he even exist if no one will realize he’s gone? He tries to rub the tears from his eyes at that realization, not wanting Liam to see how hopeless he feels. The world won’t care when Harry is dead, and Harry has never felt less important in his entire life. 

“Harry?” Liam’s voice breaks into Harry’s spiraling thoughts. What? Oh yes, Liam asked him a question and the silence following has been far too long. Harry pulls his hands away from his eyes, clearing the knot that has formed in his throat. He takes a deep breath, but his hands are shaking. He has to blink back more tears, deciding that crying will serve no purpose. He is going to die. Death is cold and lonely. He is obsolete in the eyes of death. Every single person dies eventually. These are facts. 

“I don’t know,” Harry lies, trying to put a bit of hope in his tone. He doesn't succeed, the words coming out dark and stilted. He heard voices outside of their room earlier, even though he has no idea how long ago it was; the room they are in doesn’t have a clock. He recognized one of the voices as Tommo’s, high and raspy. He heard them laughing, the tinkle of Tommo’s real laugh floating into their room like windchimes before a thunderstorm. How could they be laughing when they know two lives will end soon? Harry will never understand how people are capable of such cruelty. It makes him hate his captors that much more. 

Harry looks around the room for the one hundred and sixty seventh time since they got there. They were brought in by the other two guys which Harry has found out their names to be Ashton and Luke. Ashton searched them both, while Luke took their phones and wallets. He forced them to unlock their phones, and Harry watched in horror as Luke’s slender fingers typed away before it went black with a bunch of small texts written on the screen. Luke just smiled, placing it in his pocket then restarting the process on Liam’s phone. Harry wanted to cry. He had so many pictures saved on his phone, and now he may never be able to get them back. 

The room is spacious with two cots and a small table. Harry sees a toilet on the far side of the room, no curtain or anything to give the person using it any amount of privacy. He thought it was disgusting. He would never use the bathroom in the company of anyone. He may have to break his rule though, because he desperately has to pee, his morning kale smoothie catching up to him. There isn’t even a window, so Harry can’t tell what time of day it is. He would assume after lunch, since his stomach is beginning to grumble, having digested his light breakfast long ago. 

“I doubt they are going to just let us walk away,” Liam says, breaking Harry out of his thoughts. Harry glances at Liam, then looks around the room again, noticing cameras in each corner. They are being recorded, but Harry doesn’t really care. They haven’t said anything incriminating. He doesn't see any ways to escape. The walls and floor are made of tightly packed stone and the ceiling doesn’t even have tiles. The door was locked as soon as Ashton and Luke left, and Harry wouldn’t know the first thing about picking a lock. He doubts he even has the tools to do so. 

“Probably not. I can maybe offer them money, though. Give them some money in exchange for our freedom. We will have to promise that we won’t say anything,” Harry responds. He had been thinking about it for a while now. It’s really the only thing he could offer them. He has money. He probably has enough for a small family to live off for the rest of their lives in his trust fund alone. 

“Do you think that’s what they want?” Liam asks, his dark brows drawn in thought. 

“I’m not sure. I don’t think they wanted to kidnap us. We just witnessed something we should not have seen, so they took us prisoner,” Harry reasons, playing with his rings. 

“Do you think they know who you are?” That’s a good question because Harry barely knows who he is. He knows Liam meant more so in the sense of who his family is, but Harry thinks about it more in the abstract. He doesn't know who he is. He was never forced to find an identity, his wealth becoming a dome over his head, allowing him to live in a shadowed bubble. He never had to think about who he is. He has just always been rich, and that was enough for most people. Harry thinks about his question though, ultimately deciding on an answer. 

“Why would they? I’m sort of a nobody. I mean, yeah my family is rich, but I don’t know why a crime organization would know that,” Harry says, looking down in thought. His family is well off, but they aren’t famous. Someone in the organization may know his last name, but he isn’t really sure. It’s not a super common last name, but it could be of no relation. 

Harry and Liam both jump when they hear the handle of the door jiggle, and Harry finds himself holding his breath. “Should we try to attack them,” Liam whispers, but everything feels like it is moving in slow motion. 

“No. They have guns. They will just kill us,” Harry responds, voice low as he watches the door with wide eyes. Liam nods, and Harry wonders who is going to be on the other side. Will it be Ashton and Luke? Maybe Simon, who Harry can only assume is their boss. Harry just hopes it isn't one person in particular, but his heart drops when he sees the blue eyes of someone he has come to hate. 

“Brought you guys some food,” Tommo says, walking in and shutting the door. He is no longer wearing the jacket, just a black turtleneck with rolled up sleeves and a pair of loose fit jeans. He doesn’t have the holster around his chest anymore either, but Harry supposes he could have a gun hidden somewhere else. He walks with the confidence of a femme fatale, his hips swaying with each step, and Harry wonders if he knows that he looks like he is going to slit someone’s throat while kissing their lips. He is holding a brown paper bag with the McDonalds logo on it, and Harry’s stomach growls at the smell coming from its contents. 

“Eww. I’m not eating that garbage.” Harry scrunches his nose in disgust despite how good it smells, watching Tommo sit the bag on the small table. “I only eat organic, non-processed foods. Fast food is disgusting, and your body reflects it,” Harry continues, looking at Tommo. He tries to ignore the fact that Tommo’s body doesn’t reflect anything disgusting. Quite the opposite really. Even under the material of his turtleneck, Harry can tell his body is curvy, his legs looking as though they could snap Harry’s neck. Definitely not the legs of someone who fills their body with fast food. 

“Suit yourself, Princess. I don’t give a fuck if you starve,” Louis responds with a shrug, and Harry cringes, sitting up straighter on the cot. 

“Could you please not use that sort of language? It is immature and makes you sound uneducated, although I suppose you are,” Harry tells him, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at Tommo. His blue eyes squint, and Harry knows he managed to make him angry. He doesn’t care, though. He is going to die anyways, so maybe this way it will be quicker. 

“Immature and uneducated, huh? That’s interesting because recent research suggests that swearing has no direct correlation to intelligence or level of education. In fact, some research shows the exact opposite. People who curse tend to be more linguistically fluid and expressive,” Tommo says, his voice strong and unwavering. Harry is so taken aback by the response, he can’t stop his mouth from forming a small ‘o’. Tommo looks smug, obviously happy that he had caught Harry off guard. To be fair, he did. He wasn’t expecting that, at all. 

“Why are you feeding us if you are just going to kill us?” Liam asks, hope lacing his words. Harry is thankful for the change of subject because his face is burning with embarrassment. How did a low life like Tommo manage to refute his statement so easily? Is it true? Harry would look it up, but his phone has been confiscated, probably to never be seen again. He just got that phone, too. 

“We aren’t gonna kill you. Well not right away at least,” Tommo says, pulling out the chair and straddling it then leaning his chest against the back of it. It shouldn’t be hot, but it is. Harry really needs to get laid. Lack of intimacy is playing tricks on him, making his brain think that he is attracted to someone as repulsive as a common criminal. Harry shakes himself, focusing on Tommo’s words. He said they weren’t going to kill them, and Harry should feel elated. He doesn’t though. They are still trapped, and Tommo added the condition of ‘not right away’ which means it is still on the table. 

“If you aren’t going to kill us, then what do you intend to do?” Harry asks, his curiosity getting the better of him. 

“Ransom,” Tommo answers easily, and Harry really should have been expecting it. His heart falls into his stomach at the answer, though. 

“I’m not worth anything. I’m just his assistant,” Liam argues, his voice taking on an hysterical quality. Harry knows they didn’t mean him, though. They are going to ransom Harry, and he can physically feel his hope fracture, all optimism he had over the situation leaving his body via the newly formed crack. 

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” Tommo responds, and what? Why would he pretend he didn’t hear that? Liam really isn’t worth anything. Then it dawns on Harry that the only thing probably keeping Liam alive is the fact that he may be useful to them. Tommo doesn’t want to kill him, and Harry isn’t sure what to do with that information. He just assumed Tommo was evil, killing without any type of remorse, but is that the action of an evil person? 

“There are cameras. They are recording every single word we utter, every move we make,” Harry indicates, one long, ringed finger coming up to point to one of the cameras in the room. Tommo doesn't even look in the direction Harry is pointing, probably familiar with their location. 

“Eh, I’m not too concerned about them, so I am going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” Tommo responds, a small smile playing on his dusty pink lips. Harry is so confused, but he doesn’t question it. He is just thankful that neither of them are going to die today. Tommo’s posture is relaxed, his small hands resting on his thick, jean clad thighs. Every now and again, he flicks his head, moving the soft brown hair that seems to continuously fall in his eyes, away. The light in the room is dim, casting shadows over the contours of his face. Harry finds himself wanting to sketch him, the lesson in shadow and highlighting almost too good to pass up. 

“You’re not going to get anything. My parents don’t care about me,” Harry says, remembering the conversation at hand. He tries to keep the sadness from his voice, but he doesn't succeed. Tommo’s brows are drawn, pity coating his features for a split second before he rearranges them back to cold indifference. Harry doesn’t bother with his own, the loneliness he was feeling before, becoming more intense with his words. The reality of just how few people care for him sitting on his chest like a one ton lead weight. He feels like he can’t breathe. 

“Awe perk up, Princess. I’m sure they care enough about their only son to at least part with a couple mill,” Tommo says, smirking at the nickname, and Harry finds himself wanting to punch him again. He has never wanted to hit anyone in his life, but no one gets under his skin like Tommo. There is just something about the way he talks and the smugness of his actions that irks him. He wants to strangle him while punching him. 

“They don’t. You won’t see a penny, so why don’t you just let us go,” Harry argues. 

“Not gonna happen, Princess.” 

“Stop calling me that,” Harry warns, allowing the anger he feels licking at his skin to show through in his voice. The only way to describe the feeling flowing through his veins is hate. He hates him. He is smug and annoying. A criminal. Harry hates everything about him. 

“You are a princess, though. Your family is practically American royalty. Born with a silver spoon in that big mouth of yours. Never had to work for anything a day in your life. How is that any different than a princess?” Tommo asks, and Harry opens his mouth to argue then shuts it again, quickly realizing that he really can’t. It’s all true, but that still doesn’t mean he likes this lowlife calling him that. 

“Look, I have money. Not as much as my parents, but I have money. I can pay for our freedom. Let us go; I’ll get you the money. We will promise not to tell a soul what happened here or what we saw today,” Harry tries, his voice almost begging. It’s really his only hope. His parents will not give them any money in exchange for his life. His dad doesn’t care enough about him. They would probably be happy to see him dead, if he’s honest. One less person using their money for nothing but his stupid hobbies. He will no longer be a disappointment to them if he’s dead. 

“Why would we do that if we can get five times as much from your parents?” Tommo asks, and Harry can’t stop himself from pouting, all hope leaving his body once more. He shakes his head because he knows that’s not true, but he supposes they really aren’t going to listen to him. They will just be disappointed, but it will at least keep them alive for a few more days. Maybe they can figure out a way to escape. It buys them time, afterall. 

“Alright. Suit yourselves. You’ll see though,” Harry responds with a shrug. Tommo gets up, grabbing something from a bag that Harry hadn’t even realized was sat down on the table. He recognizes it as a Polaroid camera pretty quickly, owning a few himself. He likes the nostalgic quality photos that polaroids give him. “What are you doing with that?” Harry watches with wide eyes as Tommo produces a newspaper from the very same bag. 

“Ransom photos. You’re a model, right? Should be a piece of cake for you then,” Tommo explains with a wide smile, and Harry very much hates him. How did he know that Harry had done some modeling? How much does he know about him exactly? Harry doesn’t say anything as he is handed the newspaper with today’s news plastered across the front. When Tommo points the camera, Harry almost poses, career training taking over his limbs for a brief moment. 

“Got it,” Tommo says, taking the paper from him, and waving the picture in the air to get it to develop faster. Harry almost tells him that it will do nothing, in fact, shaking a polaroid can actually damage the picture, but he doesn’t. He kind of hopes it’s damaged, but then again, Tommo could just take another one. He watches as Tommo begins moving towards the door, looking down at the picture to make sure it is clear. “I’ll be back to check on you later. Maybe bring you dinner. Eat or starve.” The door shuts behind him with an audible click, a few seconds later, Harry can hear the telltale sign of the door locking, deadbolt firmly in place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, kudos and comments are always welcome! They keep us alive. 
> 
> If you have any questions or concerns or just want to talk to me about this fic or any of my fics, you can follow me on social media. 
> 
> Twitter: Wicked_Archer  
> Tumblr: Wicked-Archer


	3. One Of A Kind People

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis is unhappy about recent turn of events while Harry has a plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a fun one! I really enjoyed writing their discussions in this one. You will see what I mean by that. 
> 
> A quick thank my two betas, Dana and Linda, for reading this fic and putting up with my constant questioning of my sanity. They are amazing friends, and I love them dearly. 
> 
> If you're interested in supporting me as a writer, please look at my [author website](https://lmarcherofficial.com/%20rel=). 
> 
> There is also a [Spotify Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1l6QjjLoOIRPOCgZt8d4YV?si=8kwH6LpvQzik8AfjPVMPIw) that will be updated weekly with the songs represented as chapter titles as well as any other songs I feel fit with the emotions/theme of the chapter.

_It doesn't matter what you've heard or if you're good or bad and everything between  
_ _If you have a lot of money, if you're funny, or just fifty shades of mean  
_ _If you've studied in the Good Book or you couldn't give a damn  
_ _And you'd rather watch the movie, that's fine_  
 _Because there's one kind of people in this world:  
People who die- Amigo the Devil _

Louis is annoyed. He and Niall had an early morning meeting with Simon which was the first issue of the day. Fucking mornings. Simon seemed to believe the story that Liam is Harry’s cousin, but that was probably the only thing that went well throughout the whole thing. It all went downhill when Simon gave them their next task. Louis is very unhappy about it, which is why he and Niall are currently on their way to Harry and Liam’s holding cell with coffee and donuts. Knowing the pretentious little brat, he probably only eats donuts made with organic non-fat almond milk flavored with rosewater and pistachios or some shit. 

“Did Harry ever eat?” Louis asks out loud, remembering the other man’s refusal the day before. Luke had taken them dinner, so he doesn’t know if that went over better or not. It feels like a lifetime ago. Louis has been very stressed ever since they brought the pair back with them. He can’t help but curse the nosiness of Harry Styles because if he didn’t look over Louis shoulder at the museum, Louis could have left him there once the job was done. Louis is angry about it. It’s his own fault he is in this position, and now Simon is making Louis do a bunch of shit that he never wanted to do. 

“I don’t know. Why do you care?” Niall asks curiously, eyes finding Louis, studying him. Fuck. Louis has no idea why he even asked. His brain to mouth filter doesn’t seem to be working today. It’s too fucking early for this shit, and he only managed to sleep a minimal amount. His head is already pounding, and he is pretty sure he hates his life. Fuck. 

“I don’t,” Louis grates, not looking at Niall. He doesn't care, so he really doesn’t understand his own reasoning for asking such a question about their prisoners. If the princess wants to starve then that’s his choice. Louis doesn’t give a damn. He did what he was supposed to do. He brought him food, and now he is doing something else he was told to do, as much as it displeases him. Sometimes he really fucking hates his job, especially when it involves ridiculously pretty boys who are also equally as ridiculously spoiled. 

“Are Ash and Luke ready?” Louis asks, reaching the door that holds Harry and Liam behind it. There is nobody outside standing guard, but there isn’t supposed to be. 

“Yeah. They are outside, just in case. You’re going with Ash right?” Niall asks, switching the carrier holding their coffee from one hand to the other. 

“Yeah,” Louis responds, gripping the box of donuts. He takes a deep breath as he unlocks the door. He doesn’t see Harry or Liam on the bed, so he walks into the room, eyes scanning from left to right then back again. A sudden blinding pain burst through the back of his head straight down his spine as something hard hits him. He falls to the ground with a startled cry, the room going black. He opens his eyes a few seconds later, or it could be hours for all he knows, the sight of the rainbow on Harry’s Gucci loafers retreating quickly from his blurry view. Louis desperately wants to close his eyes again, to go back to sleep because the light in the room hurts his eyes. 

“Lou, you okay?” He hears a muffled voice say followed by a warm hand on his back, and Louis needs to open his eyes. He needs to stay conscious despite the searing pain making its way from the back of his skull to every other part of his body. He pushes the palm of his hands to the cold floor, taking a deep breath before he gets up, pushing his torso off the ground. He groans, the pain radiating to his spine now. What the fuck did they hit him with? He shakes his head, trying to clear the fog from his brain. It makes the pain worse, a wave of nausea rolling his empty stomach. 

“‘M fine. We need to go after them,” Louis says, his eyes roaming the empty room, landing on Niall’s worried expression. He can feel his brain catching up, the lag from the blow being shaken loose. Adrenaline begins pumping in his veins, providing temporary relief from the pain in his skull. They need to catch Harry and Liam, or Simon may actually kill them. He sees the box of donuts that he had dropped on the ground when he fell as he pushes himself the rest of the way to his feet, ignoring the feeling of his brain throbbing against his skull. Niall is already gone, so Louis begins running too, his powerful legs catching up to Niall easily. 

They burst through the door, and Louis immediately sees that Ashton and Luke have wrestled Liam to the ground, holding his hands behind his back. “Which way did he go?” Louis barks, squinting his eyes against the bright sunlight that provides zero warmth. Ashton points in the direction of the dock, and Louis curses under his breath. “Ni, stay here. I’ll go.” 

“You sure? You took that hit pretty hard,” Niall asks, brow drawn in concern. 

“Yeah. I’m faster than you. We both know that,” Louis says, smiling, but it probably is more a grimace since his injured brain apparently doesn’t like the sun. He takes off running in the direction that Ashton pointed, heaving air into his lungs and pumping his arms to gain speed. He catches a glimpse of Harry’s long legs moving towards a parking lot. Louis starts running faster, ignoring the throb of pain in his head with each thump of his shoes hitting the pavement. 

He notices that Harry is running towards a black car, calling a name that Louis finds familiar. Harry is out of breath from his running, so the name is coming out breathy and barely audible. Louis squints his eyes, recognizing the person in the driver's seat as Carey, one of Selley’s henchmen. He is looking the other way, not paying attention to his surroundings. Louis just doesn’t know how Harry would know his name. He doesn’t think about it, willing his legs to move faster to catch up with the other man. Carey must not see or hear Harry’s weak attempts to gain his attention because he begins driving away, the sound of the tires squealing over pavement echoing around them. 

Harry looks panicked but doesn’t slow down, his long legs moving faster than Louis could have ever thought possible in his Gucci shoes. Louis is catching up to him though, moving across the blacktop right behind him, the salty aroma of the sea water filling Louis’ lungs with each deep inhale. He doesn’t think what to do, instead acting on instinct. He dives for the taller man, tackling him to the grassy area on the other side of the pavement. He wraps his arms around Harry’s slim waist, shoulder going into his back. Harry’s body is surprisingly hard, all lean muscle that is so warm, Louis wants to take a nap. They roll twice, grass under Louis’ back for a brief second before he lands on top of Harry, straddling his slim hips. 

“What the fuck?” Louis grunts, hands grabbing Harry’s flailing wrist as his thighs tighten around his hips, so that he can’t buck him off. Harry still tries though, but Louis is able to use his center of gravity to keep his balance, years of skateboarding finally serving a purpose. Harry is much hotter than a skateboard though, and he has a dick which just so happens to be grinding against Louis’ given their position. Louis pushes that thought out of his mind even though he desperately wants to cling to it like a toddler to their favorite candy.

“Let me go,” Harry says between breaths, his wrists flexing and moving under Louis’ fingers. He doesn’t seem as out of breath as Louis, and he makes a mental note to cut back on the cigarettes because his fucking lungs are on fire. He feels like he can’t get enough air into them, his head throbbing with each attempt at a deep breath. Harry is much stronger than he looks, so maybe there is something to be said about yoga and hippie dippie kale smoothies. It takes Louis a minute to wrestle Harry’s wrists to the ground, using his upper position as leverage. He crosses his wrists, holding them on the grass with one hand. 

“Don’t make me get my gun out,” Louis threatens, his other hand beginning to reach behind his back. Harry stops moving immediately, and Louis lets out a sigh of relief. He really doesn’t like bringing out his gun unless the circumstances are dire. Louis’ body relaxes on top of Harry’s, their groins pressed more firmly together now that his thighs are no longer flexed. Harry’s chest heaves with his breaths, his back bowing off the grass with each steady inhale.

“What the fuck did you hit me with?” Louis asks, using his free hand to rub the back of his skull, hissing in pain when he finds the tender spot. Now that the adrenaline is starting to wear off, the pain has come back tenfold. His vision feels fuzzy, the bright sunlight may as well be sharp knives being shoved into his eye sockets. He doesn’t know if it was Harry or Liam that delivered the blow, but he thinks he remembers seeing Liam in front of him when things went fuzzy. 

“I had the idea to unscrew the toilet seat,” Harry responds, face set in defiance. Louis is shocked that Harry would have thought to remove the toilet seat to use it as a weapon. They have been meaning to replace it with a lighter, plastic one, but they’ve never gotten around to it. No one else has ever used it that way, so it didn’t feel necessary. Louis finds Harry’s creativity somewhat commendable. He allows that to show in his expression, mouth turning down on the sides as he moves his head from one side to the other. The action hurts, his brain feeling as though it is bumping the sides of his skull like a fucking fish being sloshed around in a small tank. He is worried that brain matter may spill out of his ears at any moment. 

“The princess has some street smarts after all. Pretty face and brains, who’d have thought?” Louis asks with a smirk, wincing when another pain shoots through his temples. He freezes when he realizes he called Harry pretty. He is attributing the slip up to the fact that his head feels like it has been split open with a rusty ice pick. He knows, objectively, that Harry is pretty, but that doesn’t mean he needs to fucking put those words out into the world. 

“Two things you wouldn’t know anything about,” Harry shoots back, but Louis hears very little venom in his tone. Perhaps he realizes he isn’t escaping today, or maybe he is being playful. Louis’ brain can’t decide while it is in such a fragile state. 

“Ah come on Princess, don’t you think I’m pretty?” Louis says the words before he can think to suck them back into his mouth and keep them in his aching brain where they belong. Jesus fuck. What is wrong with him? He has no idea why he is suddenly flirting with a cute rich boy, but here he is, straddling one and enjoying every moment of it. He shakes his head, trying to clear it up a bit more because no. 

“Can you get off me now?” Harry asks, which doesn’t answer Louis’ question. He tells himself he isn't disappointed. He also tells himself that no answer is answer enough, but at the same time he doesn’t know why he wants a fucking answer anyway. He didn’t even mean to ask the question for fuck’s sake. He needs sleep and meds because his brain and mouth are not cooperating with him today. Neither is his dick, which is now twitching on top of Harry’s, but that is a problem for a different day, he supposes. 

“That depends. Are you going to do something stupid again?” Louis returns Harry’s question with one of his own, smirking down at him. Louis feels like they are playing a game of questions, neither of them ever getting answers. Now that the excitement is over, Louis decides he likes the look of Harry on the grass below him, his eyes matching the blades perfectly. His curly hair rumpled, a stray leaf caught between strands. Louis’ breath falters for a split second, just now getting it back under control from their recent chase, because Harry is breathtaking as the morning sunlight reflects in his green eyes. 

“Like try to escape?” Harry asks, his red lips forming carefully around the words. It must be the concussion because all Louis can think about is what those lips would taste like. Would they be salty like the ocean around them or would they be sweet like a fruit cocktail, a mix of strawberries, lemons and watermelon. Louis shakes his head, dislodging the thought, a new wave of pain flooding his head, feeling as though it is trying to push his eyes out of their sockets. 

“No, like get grass stains on your overpriced Gucci sweater,” Louis responds, but he allows himself a small smile. He slowly gets up, as much as he sort of just wants to spend the rest of the day straddling Harry. It’s probably for the better though because his brain is fuzzy, and he isn’t thinking clearly. He reaches a hand down, grabbing Harry’s and pulling the bigger man up. Louis keeps his hand gripped on Harry’s elbow as he points them back in the direction of the warehouse. Before they start towards their destination, he uses his free hand to thumb out a text to Niall and the others, telling them that he caught Harry and for Ashton to be ready with the car. As he finishes his message, pocketing his phone before Harry decides to try to grab it, yet another question pops into Louis’ mind. 

“How did you know that man in the car?” Louis asks, his curiosity getting the better of him as he nods in the direction of where the car was before it drove off. They begin walking, their steps quick in the cool morning air. So much for hiding their location, although he doubts Harry would recognize where they are. There are a million and three docks in this city, so it’s not like Harry knows exactly which one. There aren’t any identifying features either, but they will get the occasional person visiting to go out in their own boat tied to the dock or just fishing. 

“Oh. Mr. Carey? I don’t really know him that well. He works with my dad. I don’t know what he was doing out here though,” Harry tells him, and Louis finds that little bit of information interesting. It would be smart for Selley to have some of his men planted in the corporate world, influencing their decisions. He knows Simon has his hands in those types of things as well. He just thought Carey was very close to Selley, but he could be wrong. Either way, he wonders what Carey was doing there as well. He was most likely trying to find their location, which Louis makes a mental note to tell Simon about. 

_________

“You okay, Tommo?” Luke asks when they approach the group. Harry looks around for Liam but doesn't see him, worry gnawing at his gut. What if they killed Liam for trying to escape? It was Harry’s idea; Liam just went along with it. He hated the idea of just sitting there, doing nothing, waiting to die. He glances at Tommo, who still has a firm grip on his elbow. 

“Yeah. I’m fine. Just a bit of a headache now. I’ll take some meds or something when I get home,” Tommo reponds, shooting Harry an angry look. Harry just shrugs, pretending that he doesn’t care if he hurt him. He didn’t want to, though. Normally he doesn't like violence. It is completely against his personal moral standards, however he also doesn’t like the idea of waiting to die. He supposes violence is okay in life or death circumstances, but only those and only if no one dies. 

“Umm… What do you want to do?” Ashton asks, eyes glancing between them. Harry looks around, they seem to be at a harbor of some sort. He noticed earlier after Louis tackled him, then on their short walk back. Even though he can no longer see the ocean he can smell it around them and hear the handful boats as the waves force them to bump into the wooden docks they are tied to.. He just doesn't know which one, and there are a lot in their city to choose from. There aren’t any identifying features except that it seems to be deserted. He doesn't know what time it is, but he thinks it is morning given the position of the sun and the fact that there is still some frost on the blades of grass that aren’t exposed to sunlight.

“We go about the original plan,” Tommo answers, and Harry wonders what the original plan is. Was it to kill them finally? Did they realize his family wasn't planning to pay his ransom? He doesn’t know for sure. He thinks Tommo was holding a box of donuts when he came into their cell. That would be a horrendous last meal, but he doesn't think these people are the type to respect someone’s last wishes. He doesn't even want to think about the amount of blood that is on the hand touching his arm. 

“You don’t want us to tell Simon?” Luke asks, and Harry’s head snaps up. 

“No. This stays between the four of us. I don’t know what Simon would do if he found out about their little attempt to escape, but it certainly wouldn’t be good for them. Let’s just go. My head feels like it is going to fucking explode. I need some tylenol and a metric ton of coffee,” Tommo says, rubbing his temples. A pang of guilt shoots through Harry’s chest. He doesn’t know where it came from, but it lingers as he watches the smaller man squint in the not very bright sunlight. It’s his fault. He hit him over the head with a toilet seat, and he feels sort of bad for it. He shouldn’t. Tommo is a monster who is part of a mafia and kills innocent people. 

The other boys nod, and Tommo pulls on Harry’s arm, towards another black nondescript van, but different from the one they were in yesterday. He pushes Harry in, turning to grab something before he follows him. Harry doesn’t pay attention to Tommo as he takes in his surroundings. The back of this van is open, so Harry sits on the dirty floor. He isn’t worried about stains on his clothes anymore, they are ruined. He will have to burn them if he ever gets out of this alive. He is also starting to smell bad, having not showered in a full day. He hates smelling bad. He hates looking bad, so to say he is uncomfortable would be an understatement. He knows his hair is greasy, and his teeth feel furry from lack of toothpaste and floss. 

“Here,” Tommo says, handing him a coffee. Harry looks at it suspiciously, glancing up at Tommo. His blue eyes are sparkling somehow even in the lowlight of the vehicle. He smirks, his day old scruff morphing on his face with it. “Take it. It’s a caramel latte. Didn’t know what you would like, so I ordered the white girl special. I promise it doesn’t have anything in it other than coffee and an obscene amount of sugar. If I wanted to kill you, then I would have done so when you were running.” 

“Thanks,” Harry says, taking it slowly. His fingers brush Tommo’s as the Starbucks cup passes from his hand to Harry’s. His fingers are cold, and Harry tells himself that he doesn’t have a sudden desire to warm them up. He takes a sip, the hot liquid making its way down his sternum settling into his stomach, warming him from the inside out. He normally doesn’t consume this much sugar, but he is starving, having refused to eat most of the food that was given to them. He did pick at dinner, but it was still overly processed and from a fast food restaurant. 

“Sorry, we had donuts but they kind of fell on the floor when you hit me over the head with something that you sit your bare ass on,” Tommo explains, and Harry grimaces at his use of crude language. He looks up, finding that Tommo doesn’t seem to be upset about the blow. In fact, half of his lip is tilting up into a small smile. 

“Aren’t you going to blindfold me or something?” Harry asks, ignoring his comment, studying Tommo while he can. He knows they will probably take his sight from him soon enough, so he may as well spend what last moments he has before darkness to look at the only interesting thing in the van. As much as Harry hates to admit it, Tommo does interest him in some way. He just can’t figure him out. His whole aura confuses Harry. It’s like he is surrounded by darkness but still somehow manages to emit light. As if the sun itself is surrounded by the night sky. 

“Nope. That’s not necessary,” Tommo answers, not giving more information than that. Harry watches as Tommo pulls the sleeves on his jacket up, exposing slim forearms, his skin tan underneath the tattoos despite the summer being a long way off. For some reason, Tommo makes Harry think of summer, and he can’t figure out why. Maybe it’s his sun kissed skin. Maybe it’s the brightness that seems to radiate off him even when he is tired and squinting from a possible concussion. Harry doesn't understand how someone so evil can give off this much light. He guesses the sun can be deadly though if one is exposed to it for too long. He wonders if Tommo will be deadly when he is exposed to him too long, burning his skin in a way he would never recover from. 

“Why? Don’t wanna cover up my pretty face?” Harry asks, using Tommo’s words from when he was sitting on top of him. Harry tries to push the straddling incident from his mind because Tommo apparently has a round ass, and it felt amazing pressed into his balls, even when he was threatening him with a gun. He glances up to find Tommo’s smirk is now a full blown smile. 

“You can’t see where we are going. The sides of the van cover us in any direction. You can’t even see out the front where Ash is sitting because this is up.” Louis demonstrates by tapping the wall behind him where Harry assumes the cab is located. “The door is locked too, just me and you back here, and I’ve got the gun. If you scream, I’ll gag you faster than a blowjob scene in a porno. I’m not too concerned,” Tommo continues, pointing at the door as he speaks, and Harry can’t stop the face he makes at the porno comment. 

“Where’s Liam?” Harry asks, realizing he hasn’t seen him since they tried to escape. Worry shoots through him. He hopes his friend is okay. He is quite literally the only person he has in the world that cares about him, even though he is paid to. Harry likes to believe that Liam is sincere in his affection, but he can’t be sure. So many people in the past have befriended him for the sole benefit of his money, constantly expecting him to pay for meals or take them on lavish vacations. It gets old, and it always makes him wonder if people actually like him or just like his bank account. 

“He’s safe. He’s with Niall. Niall’s a good guy. He will take care of him,” Tommo answers easily, his tone taking on a comforting quality, as if he is speaking to a scared child. The worry Harry felt moments before evaporates. He’s glad that Liam is okay. He would never forgive himself if Liam died because of him. Liam is a good person and has never been anything but nice to Harry. He doesn’t know why Tommo told him that little bit of information, almost as if he was trying to reassure him. Shouldn’t he have lied or not told him anything, kept Harry guessing and scared? Isn’t that what bad guys typically do? 

They sit in silence for a while. Harry has no idea how long since he has no concept of time at the present moment. Tommo’s eyes are closed as he leans his head against the panel behind him. Harry can’t help but stare at him, and he doesn't really understand why. He tells himself it's because he doesn't have anything better to do. There is only one small light in the back of the van, shadows being cast in many different directions. Every now and again, Tommo would wince when the vehicle changes directions, causing his head to move with inertia. 

Harry noticed that Tommo has changed his clothes from the day before unlike Harry who hasn’t been given the opportunity. His skin feels itchy in his dirty clothes, and he hates it. Tommo is now wearing a dark maroon shirt with a well fitting tattersall print light gray jacket on top. The pattern of the jacket is black and maroon, matching his shirt perfectly. His tight black jeans are well fitted, vans adorning his small feet. He looks peaceful, his long eyelashes brushing his freckled cheeks in the dim light of the car. At that moment, he doesn't look like a killer at all. He just looks like a tired man who may have a headache. Harry’s fingers itch to sketch him. 

He knows Tommo isn’t asleep even though his breaths are even and steady. Every few minutes, Tommo takes another sip from his coffee, not even opening his eyes to look at the cup. Harry probably should be taking this time to consider an escape plan, but he can’t seem to tear his eyes away from the other man occupying the vehicle. Harry cannot deny that Tommo is pretty even with his day old scruff occupying his cheeks. While Harry is studying him, his mind is racing with the questions about today, mostly surrounding Tommo’s motives. 

“Why aren’t you going to tell Simon we tried to escape?” Harry blurts the question out before he even has time to reconsider, which is definitely not like him. The stress of the situation is making him think and behave differently. He doesn’t like it. He has never really known who he is, but he’s definitely not someone who hits people over the head and speaks before he thinks. 

“Don’t want him to kill you,” Tommo answers, not even opening his eyes. His slim shoulders shrug as he brings the hot coffee up to his lips, tilting his head a bit to take a sip, firm lips puckered around the rim of the cup 

“He sounds like a terrible person,” Harry comments, taking another sip of his drink for lack of something better to do. The van has begun moving much faster, as if there are not as many traffic lights. Harry’s body is swaying with the bumps and turns on a road that he cannot see but knows that is under him. It makes him uneasy not knowing exactly where he is going, but he tries to take a few deep breaths, telling himself to pretend he is just in a room and not moving. 

“He’s not,” Is all Tommo offers, his eyes still closed. 

“He kills people.” 

“It’s not always black and white,” Tommo responds easily, opening his eyes slowly to peer at Harry before shutting them again as if he has a headache. He probably does, given that Harry hit him hard with a toilet seat. Harry tells himself he doesn’t feel bad about it, but Tommo is clearly in pain. He deserves it though for doing what he does, killing innocent people or even kidnapping them. 

“Yes it is. He kills people. Killing is wrong. It’s not that hard to understand. You work for him, so that means you are just as terrible as he is,” Harry insists, looking at Tommo who has opened his eyes and is staring at him. His head is still resting against the panel, but his blue eyes are intense even though the rest of his expression remains indifferent. 

“Simon has done some questionable things, sure, but that doesn’t mean he is all bad. He has also done a lot of good,” Tommo replies, lifting his head from its resting spot. 

“Like what?” Harry asks, but he isn’t really curious. There is nothing Simon could do to excuse himself from all the wrongs he’s done. 

“Plenty.”

“If you want me to believe he isn’t a horrible person, you’re going to have to be a bit more forthcoming than that,” Harry says, his eyes squinted. Sure, not telling Simon about their escape attempt was upstanding of him, but he probably shouldn’t work for someone that he has to lie to in order to save someone’s life. Harry recognizes that he is lucky he got stuck with Tommo and the others because he would probably be dead if it were anyone else. Still, it doesn’t change anything. 

“I don’t owe you any explanations about Simon or myself. I’m just saying that not everything is how you perceive it,” Tommo responds, voice stern and unwavering as he takes another sip of his coffee. Harry had almost forgotten about his own, so he mirrors the action, letting the warm liquid work its way down his throat. 

“That’s a cowardly excuse. You don’t have anything. You know he is a horrible person, but you are just trying to justify your own bleak existence by taking it up for him. You act like you are some sort of hero because you didn’t tell him about us trying to escape because that would end up taking innocent lives. He’s a killer. He is evil.” Harry pronounces the last word carefully. He knows he is making Tommo angry, but that’s the point. Tommo needs to realize that he is no better than his boss by being a bystander and participant in his horrible actions. 

“What are you, five? The world isn’t that simple. As I’ve said, it isn’t black and white. The world is made of gray, but you refuse to see that. You just want to live in your perfect little bubble and convince yourself that your moral code is so much higher than mine,” Tommo says, eyes alight, even in the darkness of the van.

“I know what’s right and what’s wrong,” Harry insists, feeling as though he has won their argument. How can Tommo refute that?

“Do ya?” Tommo asks, eyes squinted at Harry as if he is studying him. Harry wants to squirm, but refuses. Instead, he takes another sip of his coffee, almost spilling it when the van hits a pothole. It would have been fine if he did, just another stain to add to the ones already on his beautiful cream colored sweater. 

“Right and wrong are clear and distinguishable. There is a line. Good and evil. There is always a line. You are one or the other. Things are either wrong or they are right. Most people agree that killing is wrong, for example,” Harry says, pointing his finger in victory. Killing is wrong. How could anyone think otherwise?

“Right and wrong are just terms people use to place things into a box. They are subjective because everyone has their own definitions of them, and who’s to say your definitions are better than mine because we’ve lived different lives.” 

“Killing is wrong,” Harry insists, his mind spinning with Tommo’s words. He has just never thought about it like that. He hates to admit it, but Tommo has a point about certain concepts being subjective. He doesn't know the life Tommo has led but then again, Tommo knows next to nothing about his life either. He just assumes that since Harry is rich, everything comes easy for him, but it doesn't. 

“Not always. What if someone were attacking you or someone you loved and no amount of beating them off worked, but you had a gun?” Tommo asks, and Harry stops to think about the question. 

“I would shoot them in the leg or something. Not kill them but slow them down,” Harry responds finally, the idea dawning on him. It’s far better than taking someone's life. 

“Not even a shot to the leg would stop someone who is fucked out on drugs and intending to harm you. They will keep coming,” Tommo rebutes, watching Harry as if he is trying to see his brain work. 

“Anything is a better alternative than taking an innocent person’s life,” Harry responds, shaking his head, but he’s not sure if he truly believes the words he is saying. 

“The person in question isn’t innocent. They aren’t saints. They are trying to hurt you or someone you love. Don’t be ignorant enough to believe that everyone’s hands are clean. No one is really innocent except maybe a child. Your boxes of wrong and right are easy for you, I get it. They make it easy for you to understand the world, but some things are done to survive, so don’t spew your bullshit at me when you have no idea what it’s like to live the life I lead.” Tommo takes a sip of his coffee as if he didn’t just alter Harry’s perception in some small way that he refuses to admit. 

Harry knows his mouth is open and he is gaping at him because a very small part of him wants to admit to Tommo that he’s right. That no one is really innocent, but he still thinks that killing and violence are wrong. They are never the answer, but then Harry feels sort of like a hypocrite. Didn’t he just hit someone in the skull as a means to survive? He feels the van start to slow down, his body jolted forward a bit when it comes to a full stop. Tommo looks around, as if he is breaking himself out of a trance and says, “Looks like we’re here.”

“Where is here?” Harry asks, grateful for the change of subject. His eyes squint when the door to the van is slid open by Ashton allowing the sunlight to break through the darkness. Tommo hisses in pain, placing his small hand over his eyes. Harry tells himself he doesn’t feel bad, which just brings him back to their conversation just moments before. Doing things out of desperation and survival. 

“My place,” Tommo answers, after taking a deep breath. Harry’s brain stops working at his answer. 

“What?” Harry asks, his two large front teeth hitting his bottom ones to create a harsh consonant. He can’t be serious. He peeks around Ashton’s shoulder, finding a large brick house. Harry didn’t know what he expected Tommo to live in, but he didn’t think it would be so… normal. Harry has no idea where they are, but it looks like any other house that can be found right outside of city ordinances. 

“Simon wanted us to move you to a safe location because we needed the room in the warehouse. He said the only place he trusted you to be is with me. Liam is at Niall’s house,” Tommo tells him, and Ashton gestures for Harry to get out of the van first. Harry does, slowly making his way out of the van and onto a paved driveway. He looks around, finding that they seem to be behind the house. There is a tall iron fence surrounding the perimeter. Harry doesn’t see any nearby houses, so perhaps they drove further outside of the city than Harry had originally thought. 

“There was literally no other place in the world besides your house?” Harry asks, watching as Tommo stands up slowly. Once he is on his feet, he sways from side to side, as if he is dizzy. He shakes his head, wincing at the movement. Harry barely stops his hand from reaching out to help the smaller man out of the vehicle. His hand is a traitor. He needs to have a conversation with his hand and tell it that it doesn’t want to help the person who kidnapped him.

Ashton, however, doesn’t seem to mind that his hand has reached out to help steady Tommo, long ringed fingers wrapping around Tommo’s waist, his expression worried. Tommo leans into him for a few seconds, as if relieved to have Ashton’s help. Tommo smiles at him in thanks, and Harry watches the interaction curiously, wondering if perhaps Ashton and Tommo are together. He feels a pang of what could only be described as jealousy hit his heart. It’s only because of the easy and intimate way they touch each other, something Harry has never really experienced. When Ashton removes his hand a few seconds later, Harry wants to sigh in relief. 

“Apparently not. I tried that. Even offered to take you to the fucking moon, but Simon wouldn’t budge. Trust me. I’m not anymore happy about this little arrangement than you are, but it will be way more comfortable than the warehouse at least,” Tommo finally responds, and Harry had almost forgotten what he asked, too wrapped up in his confusing emotions. Tommo begins slowly walking up to the back door. Harry looks around some more, noticing the driveway is long. He can’t even see where it leads, but judging by the fence, he would guess it’s gated. There is no way Harry would be able to climb over it, even if he did get outside. Simon wasn’t wrong to say that it’s safe, and Harry has no idea what’s in store for him on the inside. 

Ashton stays behind him as Tommo types the keycode to unlock the door handle then swipes a card that he produced out of nowhere. Harry’s eyes widen, for some reason not expecting something so hightech to be on the door of a thief’s house. Tommo turns around, grabbing Harry’s arm and ushering him inside. They seem to be in some sort of mud room, a washer and dryer sat along one of the walls. Harry looks down, finding a pile of shoes that look like they could belong to a seventeen year old boy, not a grown man, with brands like Converse, TOMs, and basic white Nike sneakers. Harry notices Ashton doesn’t accompany them inside. Good. 

He follows Tommo through a doorway into what appears to be the kitchen. Harry’s eyebrows raise in surprise. It is remarkably well decorated and clean. It has white cabinets with dark blue marble countertops. The floor is a slate gray tile, and there are beechwood accents all over to match the beechwood dining room set under a chandelier over to the side. It definitely is not what he was expecting Tommo’s kitchen to look like. 

“Are you married?” Harry blurts out because it’s the only way to explain the decor that he has seen thus far. His mind went back to the flirtatious way he interacted with Asthon, but Ashton didn’t act like he lives here. Tommo looks up from some mail that he has laying on the table, thumbing through it. Tommo looks at him with a smirk, as if he was waiting for Harry to ask the question. Harry can feel his cheeks burning, and he has no idea why he’s embarrassed. It’s a valid question. He should know if he runs into some woman or a small child even. It dawns on him then that he has no idea if Tommo is gay or straight or somewhere in between. He tells himself that he doesn’t care. 

“Nope. Just me. Niall lives nearby, so he’s over pretty often. Luke and Ash drop by pretty frequently, too,” Tommo answers, and relief floods Harry’s system. He shouldn't feel relieved though. Other people would make escaping easier. He is charming by nature. It would be easy for him to convince a woman living here to help him escape or even a child. Harry glances over at the whiteboard on his fridge, reading the message written in neat, bubbling handwriting. It almost looks feminine. 

“Your name is Louis?” He asks, pronouncing it slowly because it feels strange on his lips. He doesn't know what he thought his name was, but he wasn’t expecting something French in origin. He finds the name fits him though, far better than Tommo. When Tommo looks confused, Harry gestures towards the whiteboard on the refrigerator with the message: “Louis, you’re an asshole, but I love you.” 

“Oh that. Ashton wrote it when we were drunk and listening to Pink, but yeah. Tommo is just a nickname,” Louis responds with a shrug, and Harry knows the song Louis is referring to. He loves music, and listens to it often. It is actually driving him crazy that he hasn’t listened to anything in days. This, again, has him wondering about the nature of Louis’ relationship with Ashton. He doesn't know why it’s bothering him so much, but it is. Louis’ voice breaks him out of his thoughts, “Come on. I’ll show you around the rest of the house.” Harry follows him into the living room, finding it with similar decor to the kitchen, clean and simple. 

The walls are painted a light gray, with gray curtains on the tall, thin windows. The curtains have a hint of green to them. The couch and chair are also gray, with large comfy cushions that look perfect for napping in front of the TV. There is a beechwood coffee table, end table, and an entertainment center, situated on dark gray wood flooring, a green rug under the main pieces of furniture. 

The TV is large, and Harry can see some sort of gaming system with four controllers sprawled all around. Harry has never been much for video games, but he finds himself suddenly wanting to learn to play. He wonders if Ashton, Luke and Niall come over to play various games as they snack on junk food and yell at each other. Harry’s heart aches with his own loneliness, never having experienced a night like that. A night to just be with your friends, a part of the group, having fun and not caring about what others think. 

“This is obviously the living room, and before you even try to think of ways to escape, I am just going to go ahead and tell you it isn’t going to work. The windows are made of strong plexy-glass, virtually unbreakable. They are also locked and alarmed. There are only two doors to this house, both will be guarded 24/7 by various members of our organization. We are also surrounded by a tall fence with a locked gate, the closest neighbor being Niall who is at least 100 yards away. You don’t know where you are, so escaping would be a bad plan, and we both know I’ll find you,” Louis says, as Harry follows him up the stairs. 

Any hope Harry had evaporates just like that. They really have thought of everything, and Harry has never had to adapt to something in his life. He never imagined he would be in this sort of scenario, so thinking of alternatives is just foreign to him. The toilet seat was about the extent of his creativity, so he is most definitely trapped. Even if he could get a window open and manages to hop the fence, Louis is right, he has no idea how to get anywhere after that. He has no phone to call a car. He hasn’t seen any phones lying around. He certainly can’t make it anywhere on foot. He’s doomed. 

“This is the guest room you will be staying in,” Louis says, flicking on the light. The bed is iron, the duvet clean and white with various pillows on top. There is a light brown throw over the bottom of the mattress. The floor is a simple white carpet, the walls an off white with very little decoration. “Across the hallway is the bathroom. I have my own, so we don’t have to share or anything. My room is right there.” Louis points to a closed door, and Harry can’t help to be curious what Louis’ room looks like. 

So far, he hasn’t seen any sort of personalized decoration. No pictures of family hanging on the walls. No trophies littering bookshelves. Nothing that gives away a shred of understanding as to who Louis is as a person besides the video gaming system. Harry finds that he is curious about him. Louis has shocked him more than once in the past 24 hours, and he can’t help but wonder if there is more to him than being a common criminal. He doesn't seem like a horrible person, despite what Harry was saying in the van on the way over, so what led him to lead this life? 

“Why don’t you go and get cleaned up, and I’ll see if I can find us something to eat? I know that coffee isn’t enough for either of us,” Louis says with a smile, and Harry is just so confused by all of this. He feels disoriented again, as if his world has been flipped on its axis. It has. His life has taken a completely different turn than what he was expecting, but it’s more than just that. It’s everything. It’s his conversation with Louis, then being in his house. It’s also how nice Louis is being right now, another thing that he doesn't quite understand. He hates him. Doesn’t he? 

Louis shoots him one more smile and leaves the room. Harry takes a few deep breaths, closing his eyes in an attempt to clear his mind. He walks across the hall to the bathroom, turning on the light to find another simply decorated room. The tiles on the bathroom floor are dark gray hexagons, giving it almost a honeycomb appearance. The door is a similar color, but the cabinets are light brown, the counter top clean white. There is no bathtub, just a standing shower with white tiles and a detachable shower head. Harry peels his clothes off, and turns on the water. It doesn’t take long to get hot. 

He moans when he steps under the hot spray, having been far too long since he has showered. He doesn't allow himself to enjoy it though, getting down to business quickly. He finds some shampoo and conditioner. It’s not the flowery, organic products that he typically buys, but it is sulfate free, so that’s a plus. He lathers his curls, allowing the soap to wash down the drain. Next he washes his body, happy to finally get the stench and grime off of him. He shuts off the water and steps out, shivering when the cool air hits in his wet skin. He quickly locates a towel in the closet, wrapping it around his hips just as the door clicks open. He jumps, turning to find Louis with his mouth hanging open. 

“Oh. Fuck. Sorry. Umm… I… fuck,” Louis rambles, his blue eyes following a drop of water that is making it’s way from Harry’s neck and down between his pecs. Harry doesn't make any attempt to cover himself more, allowing Louis to look his fill. Louis is most certainly not straight, and Harry isn't sure what to do with that information. His cock has some ideas, though, as it stirs beneath the towel. 

Harry has never been a modest person. He has been photographed in more than one compromising position while nude. The human body is art, after all, but he still finds his cheeks heating under Louis’ gaze. His cock twitches again, definitely interested in being half naked and around a gorgeous man. Yes, Harry will now admit that Louis is gorgeous. He has eyes, and it is hard to deny how beautiful Louis is. 

“Did you need something?” Harry asks, allowing his lips to form into a smirk. Louis is normally so calm and composed, even when he was straddling him just after receiving a concussion. He has never seen him this flustered, and he finds he kind of likes it. The way Louis’ hand has come up to fix his hair, his eyes finally diverting to the tiled floor, is adorable. 

“Yeah. I uh… I realized you don’t have anything to wear. I know it’s not Prada or Gucci or whatever it is you prefer, but it’s clean. They are mine, so they may be a little snug. It should fit though, you’re not like a big guy. I mean… some things seem to be big…” Louis eyes travel down to Harry’s crotch, the towel barely doing anything to conceal his now half hard cock. His sentence ends on a cough, his feet shuffling on the tiled floor as if he just needs something to do.

“How’s the head?” Harry asks, an amused smile tugging on his lips. He has no idea why he asked, but maybe he is just enjoying the pretty blush that has risen on Louis’ freckled cheeks, slowly making its way down his neck the longer he is in the small room with him. Is he horrible for enjoying this? It just makes Louis seem more human, all blubbering and embarrassed. 

“What?” Louis’ eyes snap up to meet his, wide and confused. Harry taps his own temple with a smirk playing on his lips to indicate what he was asking about. “Oh. This head. I mean my head. Yeah. It- It’s fine. I took some meds. Headache has started to wear off. I mean. Anyways. There's an extra toothbrush in the drawer, and you should find some toothpaste, mouthwash and other necessities under the sink. So yeah. Um. I’ll just leave these right here. Come out when you’re ready,” Louis babbles, words coming out so quickly, Harry can barely understand them. With jerky motions, Louis sits the clothes down beside the sink before he turns and quickly exits the room. 

“Thanks,” Harry says, to Louis’ back. He barely suppresses a laugh as he watches him leave. He grabs the clothes, pulling them on. They smell like Louis, and he finds he doesn't really mind. He knows Louis smokes, but the house doesn’t smell like cigarettes. Maybe he only does that outside. He shakes his head, trying to dislodge all thoughts of his temporary housemate that he is slowly becoming curious about. He just has a lot of questions, but he tells himself he is okay with never having the answers. Louis is just a contradiction, and Harry never understood those.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, kudos and comments are always welcome! They keep us alive. 
> 
> If you have any questions or concerns or just want to talk to me about this fic or any of my fics, you can follow me on social media. 
> 
> Twitter: Wicked_Archer  
> Tumblr: Wicked-Archer


	4. The One That Got Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Louis and Harry adjust to their new living arrangements, the differences in their personalities come to the forefront.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am very excited for this one! The story really begins to pick up from here and you start to see the overarching themes that will be present throughout the series! 
> 
> A quick thank my two betas, Dana and Linda, for reading this fic and putting up with my constant questioning of my sanity. They are amazing friends, and I love them dearly. 
> 
> If you're interested in supporting me as a writer, please look at my [author website](https://lmarcherofficial.com/%20rel=). 
> 
> There is also a [Spotify Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1l6QjjLoOIRPOCgZt8d4YV?si=8kwH6LpvQzik8AfjPVMPIw) that will be updated weekly with the songs represented as chapter titles as well as any other songs I feel fit with the emotions/theme of the chapter.

_Oh, if I could go back in time_   
_When you only held me in my mind_   
_Just a longing gone without a trace_   
_Oh, I wish I'd never ever seen your face_   
_I wish you were the one_   
_I wish you were the one_   
_Wish you were the one_   
_I wish you were the one that got away- The Civil Wars_

Louis wakes up groggy and disoriented. He shakes his head, trying to dislodge the remnants of a dream shrouded in fog and muffled by the morning sunlight. He doesn't remember his dream, but he believes it was pleasant. As he looks around the empty room, memories of last night come rushing back to his mind. After Harry’s shower, things were awkward. They spent the rest of the evening circling each other, but never interacting. It was like some strange dance between two people separated by sound proof glass. They can’t hear you, only see you, and you may not even be listening to the same song. It is choppy and awkward with too much between them but not enough at the same time. 

He really didn’t know what to say to Harry. What does he have in common with a spoiled brat? The few times they have spoken, it has always ended in an argument. Last night, he was highly attuned to Harry’s every movement. Louis’ ears would perk with each sigh that was pushed from Harry’s lungs and out through his plump lips. His nostrils would flare everytime Harry’s scent, that mixed with what remained of his own on the borrowed clothes, would drift over to him. His eyes would constantly drift to find Harry even though he had far more interesting things to be focusing on. When his gaze would inevitably land on Harry, he would usually find his long ringgit fingers pulling on his full bottom lip as if in thought, and Louis would have the sudden urge to taste it. Every accidental brush of skin would have Louis’ body igniting with sparks, almost as if he had flicked the wheel of a lighter but didn’t hold down the button to create the flame. 

They moved around each other the entire night, like two people who were forced to dance together but didn’t really know one another or even the beat of the song. There wasn’t the familiarity of companionship there that comes with time. It was awkward and unsure, and to Louis, it felt strangely similar to a first date. Except it didn’t end with fumbled kisses leading to awkward sex where you just hope that your body somehow syncs to theirs and creates something mindblowing. It didn’t even end with a chaste kiss on the cheek and an ‘I'll call you tomorrow’. It did end with a cold and lonely bed, which Louis has become accustomed to. Louis didn’t realize how much he longed for domesticity until last night when he was living with a stranger and performing some type of dance in which he did not know the steps to. 

Louis is pulled from his thoughts by the aroma of something unfamiliar, and his curiosity is piqued. He doesn’t think Niall or Ashton would have let themselves in given the current situation, and they are the only two people who cook in his kitchen. Louis will cook occasionally, but he doesn’t make anything extravagant or even creative. He mostly eats fast food or snacks. 

He gets out of his bed, finding the pair of sweatpants and the shirt that he had thrown on the floor the night before. He slowly makes his way downstairs, his stomach rumbling as he gets closer to the smell of something sweet. His eyebrows reach his hairline when he makes his way into the kitchen, the soles of his feet barely making a sound on the tiled floor. He is shocked to find Harry cooking, an apron tied around his tapered waist. He looks soft, his hair curling in on the top and the sides of his head as he hums a tune that Louis has never heard. The deep baritone of his voice mixing with the sweet scent of whatever he is cooking, wraps around Louis’ body like a warm blanket. 

“I didn’t know you cooked,” Louis finally speaks, letting the curiosity lace through his voice. He tries to make it sound more like a statement, so Harry won’t think he is mocking him for cooking. Louis has to admit that he is surprised. He would have thought someone like Harry would have all his meals cooked for him, but, for some reason, Louis doesn’t want that accusation to be left in the air. 

“Oh um… Yeah. I love to actually. I don’t do it often, enough. You didn’t have much to work with, but I hope French toast is okay. I would have made avocado on toast, but you didn’t have the key ingredient,” Harry says with a shrug, turning back to the pan and expertly flipping the french toast. Louis barely hears the words, too wrapped up in the sound of Harry’s morning voice. It’s deep and gravely, like the sound of feet on crunchy pebbles during the deep recesses of the morning where nobody is awake. Then Louis realizes what Harry had said, making a face in disgust. 

“Of course you’d like fucking avocado on toast. Avocados are disgusting. I won’t let them near my house. Luke tried to bring one in one day, and I threw it at him,” Louis says, watching Harry’s lip twitch at the corner, obviously trying not to laugh. Louis goes over to the blue Keurig sitting on the counter, asking Harry if he wants a cup with just a look. Harry nods, and Louis starts making the coffee. It’s the least he can do. “How do you take it? I take mine with just sugar, but I’m sure there is some creamer in the fridge since Niall makes coffee here so often.” 

“Um, sugar with a little bit of cream is fine. Black coffee, though. That’s so gross. How do you do it?” Harry asks, and it’s his turn to give Louis a look of disgust, his pink tongue coming out for a split second as his nose scrunches up. Louis hates himself for finding it adorable, and he covers his fondness with a laugh. It quickly disappears when he realizes he can’t really answer the question without going deep into his past, and the fact of the matter is, he isn’t sure he wants Harry to know. 

“Something I’ve gotten used to,” is all he says. Harry must sense his dismissive tone because he doesn’t press, just glances at him out of the corner of his eye as they work alongside each other, Louis making coffee and Harry finishing breakfast. Louis is startled by how domestic it feels, how familiar it is. It’s a stark contrast to the night before, a dance between two strangers. Existing together in the world together, but not interacting, like how they have been living all along. Louis and Harry have always existed in the same city, maybe they have even been in the same place at the same time, but their paths have never crossed. They were still acting that way last night, but something shifted over the past seven point three hours.

“It’s ready,” Harry says, and Louis’ attention snaps up to the plates Harry has sat on the counter, a steaming stack of French toast sitting atop. Louis can’t help but smile, looking up to find Harry’s face mirroring his. Harry takes both plates, and Louis grabs the coffee as they make their way to the table. Louis doesn’t eat at it very often, only if there is a meeting or something going on at his house. Typically, his group of friends will eat in the living room, preferring to watch TV while they shovel food into their faces. 

“I’m surprised your picky ass eats French toast. Figured it would be too high in calories or trans fat or something,” Louis says, with a laugh, hoping to show Harry that he is joking. He takes a seat at the table, across from the other man then slides Harry’s coffee towards him. Louis drizzles some syrup on the food, then hands it to Harry who does the same, electing to not use as much. 

“As long as I work out, I can eat whatever I want. I just don’t like filling my body with garbage,” Harry responds with a shrug. Louis rolls his eyes, but cuts off a piece of the French toast. The scent of cinnamon and nutmeg hits his nostrils as he brings a bite up to his lips. He almost moans when it touches his tongue, an explosion of sweet mixed with spices that tastes like the cooler months that are currently residing outside. 

“This is really… um… good. Where did you learn to cook?” Louis asks, his curiosity peaked as he eats another bite. This is just very unexpected. He thought he knew Harry, well at least he knew his type. Rich and snobby. Entitled in every single way imaginable, but knowing how to cook is throwing Louis for a loop. It is blasting his perfectly constructed idea of who he thought Harry was out of the water. His head is spinning. Maybe there is more to Harry Styles than Louis had originally thought, and maybe Louis wants to peel back each layer to see what is revealed beneath the folds. 

“Our Nanny actually....” Louis cuts him off with a laugh, opening his mouth to give a smart ass reply that is on the tip of his tongue. Harry continues, before he can, “I know what you are going to say. That I’m rich and spoiled for having a nanny, but I did. She was like a mom to me, though. She had been with our family for as long as I could remember. Even though I was super young, she taught me to cook because she loved it. She taught me and my sister a lot.” Harry smiles at the memory before his lips droop. He looks down, poking at his food, and Louis wonders what was left unsaid. What about his nanny makes him sad. 

“That’s really amazing. I’m glad you have such great memories of her,” Louis says, smiling because he doesn't want to give Harry shit for having a nanny, for once. It’s not his fault his parents hired someone to take care of them because they either didn’t want to or were too busy to do so themselves. It is actually sort of sad. He doesn't know why he has the sudden urge to put a hand on Harry’s back by means of comforting the other man. He doesn’t know why he wants to ask questions about Harry’s nanny, get to know him in any way. He shouldn’t. Harry isn’t a permanent part of his life. He will leave as quickly as he came, and Louis needs to remind himself of that. 

They spend the rest of the meal in silence. It’s not the awkward silence that followed them around the night prior. No. It is more of a companionable silence. Louis doesn’t feel the need to fill the air surrounding them with words or noise as a way to muffle the awkwardness or snuff out the silence. Louis very much enjoys the breakfast Harry had made for them. It is delicious, far better than Niall or Ashton’s cooking. He wouldn't tell them that because then they wouldn’t cook for him again, and they are his only source of home cooked meals. 

“I’ll help you clean up,” Harry offers when Louis stands, grabbing the plates. He heads to the counter and begins placing the sticky plates in the empty dishwasher. Louis grabs a pan and turns on the hot water, holding his finger under the tap until it’s warm. He can feel Harry’s eyes on him as he puts the pan under the stream of hot water to get it wet, then uses the dish liquid to suds up the sponge that is sitting beside it. Harry clears his throat, and Louis’ eyes snap up to meet his. “So this is a really nice house. It’s not something I was expecting on a criminal’s pay.” Harry’s eyes widen as if he didn’t mean to make his remark sound so condescending, but he doesn’t correct himself. 

“I make a modest living which affords me some luxuries. I’m sure it's nothing like what you’re used to,” Louis responds, trying to hold onto his temper. He doesn’t think Harry meant it the way it sounded, but at the same time, Harry has said similar things to him before. It wouldn’t be the first time Harry has been condescending and rude, and he seems the type to love a backhanded compliment. Louis glances down at the pan in his hands, the noise of the rough sponge scrubbing the surface and the water flowing from the faucet, the only sound filling up the space. 

“My house is nicer, but I think it is pretty modest given who I am, and how much my family is worth. My parents house, for example, is four times as big. It’s on a cliff, overlooking the ocean with the finest security. They have a full staff of people, when I really only have a cook, a maid and an assistant,” Harry says, but it sounds almost defensive. Louis doesn’t look up mostly because he is so annoyed by his statement. It dawns on Louis then that Harry doesn’t even realize his privilege as a well off white male. He has been one his whole life. Louis knows he is white as well, and now, he is more well off than he was, but he has seen, and been a part of, the lowest of the low. He still is able to recognize he has more privilege than others just because of his skin tone and the dick between his legs. 

“You’re so spoiled,” Louis finally replies, shaking his head but still not making eye contact. He bites his tongue, so he doesn’t say more. It’s hard though, he wants to wake Harry up, but at the same time he doesn’t know why. He shouldn’t care. Harry is nothing but temporary to him, so he doesn't know why he feels so invested, as if Harry is a permanent part of his life. 

“I am not,” Harry says, and Louis can hear the outrage in his voice. He can’t be serious. Louis looks up, finding Harry’s eyes vibrant. He is serious, and Louis can’t fathom how Harry actually believes he’s not spoiled or privileged. Louis can feel his anger rising. He sets the pan in the dish rack with a loud bang, turns off the water swiftly, then begins drying his hands on a towel that is hooked over the oven handle. He knows he is even drying his hands angrily, but he can’t help it. He is just so damn mad over how truly blind Harry is. 

“Let me ask you something,” Louis starts, his voice even despite the liquid fire flowing through his veins. He throws the hand towel on the counter, none too gently. Harry looks at it for a split second before his eyes come back to Louis. Harry licks his lips then nods, clearly unsure of what Louis is about to ask. “How much money do you spend on clothes a month? Just clothes. Around one grand?” Harry scoffs at the question, and Louis narrows his eyes. 

“It depends on the month, but my winter coat alone cost four thousand dollars,” Harry answers, and Louis barely stops the shock from showing on his face. He watches as Harry shuts the door to the dishwasher, not moving to turn it on, probably because it isn’t full or he doesn't know how. Louis is unsure if he has ever used one at this point, and the more he thinks about it, the more he wonders if he even knew how to load it correctly or just guessed. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me. Four thousand fucking dollars? For a goddamned coat? Is the thread made of unicorn hair? The material created from textiles spun by the pope? Are the buttons forged from the scales of a dragon?” Louis asks, sarcasm dripping from each syllable. Harry looks confused, as if he is taking what Louis is saying literally, but then his face morphs into one of anger. 

“No, it’s wool. It’s designer,” Harry defends, voice going much higher and shrill, as if that makes it so much better. Louis begins shaking his head with a humorless laugh. Harry has to be kidding. This feels like the twilight zone or some shit. He can’t actually believe spending four thousand dollars on a coat is normal, but the look on Harry’s face tells Louis otherwise. He thinks it’s normal and acceptable. 

“So, because it’s designer, that means it’s worth it?” Louis asks, and Harry nods his head, as if it’s obvious. “I don’t understand. You said it is made of wool. My coat is made of wool as well, and I spent a very small fraction of that amount on it, plus it is a few years old. The only difference is, yours has a designer label, and therefore that makes it better? Even though it is made out of the exact same material as mine, you spent four thousand dollars on yours?” Harry’s large mouth is gaping after Louis’ speech. 

“It is pretty clear that you just don’t understand fashion,” Harry sputters, regaining his footing a bit. Louis was waiting for that answer. It’s the same thing people say about art. If someone voices not liking it, then it is automatically because that person must not understand it. Louis doesn’t really care to understand it, though. Harry continues, “That’s a special item though, on average, I spend probably somewhere between three and four thousand dollars a season.”

“And that’s just on clothes?” Louis confirms, again, trying to keep his voice neutral even though he is still very much annoyed by Harry’s comment. He could fucking scream, and he can tell Harry is already getting irritated by the conversation. He shuts himself off, crossing his arms in front of his broad chest, pale unmarked skin stretched over taut muscles. 

“Yeah. It’s not including shoes, or accessories like hand bags, hats, or sunglasses. Oh or maintenance like manicures and pedicures or even facials,” Harry rattles off as if he can't stop himself, and Louis’ head is spinning. He owns a pair of sunglasses, but they cost around five bucks, and Louis bought them at the Dollar Store. He has never carried a handbag, but isn’t against anyone who does. He is just assuming that Harry’s version of a handbag would cost the equivalent of a cheap car. Louis also only ever wears baseball caps, and those are typically cheap as well. He has never gotten a manicure, pedicure or a facial, but they sound to him like wasted money. 

“Wow. You have no concept of how the real world works,” Louis remarks, his voice finally reflecting the shock that he feels as he adds a humorless chuckle. He places his hand on the counter, needing something to do other than ball it into a fist and stop himself from punching the spoiled bastard in the face. He will teach him what a facial really is. Wait. That came out wrong, even in Louis’ head. Now all he can do is picture Harry’s sharp jawline covered in his come, his lips open and pouting as it drips from his cupid's bow onto his full lower lip. Louis shivers and shakes his head, attempting to stop his quickly approaching hard on. He is mad at Harry. He doesn't want to see his face painted with his come even though Louis is pretty sure he may finally understand art if that was the case. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry asks, his voice outraged, and it takes Louis a solid three point seven seconds to remember what Harry is even outraged about. He barely remembers what he said to prompt the question, but when he does, all images of Harry’s face covered in his come are gone, replaced by more outrage because Harry has the audacity to be getting angry about this. 

“Do you realize a small family could live for a month off the cost of your winter coat? Do you have any fucking concept of that?” Louis asks, his voice finally raising with the question. He doesn’t yell it, but it’s close, and it makes Harry flinch. Good. He wants the spoiled bastard to understand his own fucking wealth. 

“It’s not my fault people are poor, and I was born wealthy! So why do I have to pay for it?” Harry asks, his voice shrill, and Louis can’t even fucking believe it. Did Harry seriously just say that? Louis balls his hands into fists resisting the urge to strangle the fucker. 

“So you’re saying they deserve to be poor?” Louis counters, taking a step closer to Harry. The taller man doesn’t move back, but he is watching Louis with wide eyes. Louis doesn’t see fear within them, more curiosity and anger, as if he refuses to back down. 

“No…”Harry responds, the word weak as it trails off because he doesn’t seem to know what else to add. His mouth is open as he gasps for air, then he looks around the room as if the toaster will provide the answer as to why some people in the world deserve to be poor. 

“Then what the fuck are you saying?” Louis asks, his voice dropping low once more as the question comes out of barely parted lips and gritted teeth. He is fuming, but he knows he cannot strangle the pretty rich boy yet. Simon would kill him first off and, secondly, Louis doesn't actually know if he wants Harry dead. He tries not to think about his sudden interest in Harry’s wellbeing and goes back to the topic at hand, Harry’s stupid fucking privilege. 

“I don’t know! Just that it’s not my fault, and there isn’t anything I can do about poverty,” Harry says, crossing his arms over his chest again as if he is trying to protect himself from Louis’ scrutiny. He is breathing heavy now, his chest heaving under his borrowed shirt. Louis watches it for a few seconds, hoping that it may calm him, but it doesn’t. He always gets angry when the rich dismiss poor people simply because they aren’t as lucky as them. 

“You could give to charity,” Louis proposes because he knows how much big donations mean to small charitable organizations. Louis knows first hand that oftentimes those donations are the only things that keep them afloat. Louis isn’t ignorant enough to believe that all rich people are the same stingy assholes, but the generous ones tend to be few and far between. They live their entire lives in a steamed up bubble that they refuse to wipe the condensation off of just to get a peek of how others live. It’s easier to ignore it if they look at it through a fog. 

“My father gives to charity,” Harry defends weakly, uncrossing his arms and letting them fall to his side. Louis takes a step closer, they are now just inches apart, but Louis doesn’t care. He needs to get Harry to understand this. The words he said are just so ridiculous and remind Louis very much of the famous Draco Malfoy quote. Both said by spoiled rich kids with powerful fathers. Harry doesn't sneer with it though, so that’s at least a plus. 

“Oh my god, you're missing the goddamned point completely,” Louis yells, his breath whooshing over Harry’s face. Harry flinches this time, but Louis doesn’t care at all. “Jesus fucking Christ, Harry, open your damn eyes and see the world around you. There are people living on the streets, teens starving because their parents kicked them out of their home, parents that don’t know how they are going to feed their children next week, and you fucking choose to ignore it. You walk around in your designer clothes as if you are so much better than them because you were fucking born lucky!”

“I know I was born lucky! You don’t have to tell me that! I’m not stupid, but I don’t know why you’re expecting me to change the world. I’m just one person. Donating a few dollars to charitable organizations isn’t going to cure hunger or poverty. I’m just one person! As you said, one lucky person! It’s not my fault, yet you’re standing there blaming me!” Harry screams, as he pokes Louis' chest with one long, ringed finger, the paint on his nails starting to chip. Louis allows his body to sway with the force of the jab and Harry’s voice to reverberate into his ear drums, but he is still seeing red. 

“I’m not saying it will fix everything, but it could help someone! Giving just one person a meal for the night can make a difference!” Louis responds, biting his tongue hard to stop himself from telling Harry how much it helped him. He watches Harry’s mouth open and close, his red lips looking shiny with spit. His jaw is flexing with the movements, strong muscles wrapping around bone, and Louis wants to trace them with his tongue. He is angry, but his body is responding to being in such close proximity to the other man. Their chests are heaving with deep breaths, rubbing against each other when both inhale simultaneously. 

“How do you know I don’t buy meals for homeless people?! You act like you know everything about me when you know absolutely nothing!” Harry points out, his hot breath wrapping around Louis’ face with each harsh word. It smells minty and sweet, an odd mixture of toothpaste and breakfast. Louis doesn’t know how they got this close to each other, but they are now toe-to-toe, their noses inches away from one another. Louis finds his eyes drifting to Harry’s mouth over and over. He doesn't know what his obsession is with Harry’s mouth, but he wants to taste it. 

“I know because you’re a fucking spoiled little brat who turns his pretty little nose up at the world as if everything else on the planet is beneath him. You and your prissy little friends probably have gone on thousand dollar vacations and traveled the world on your yachts, but have never seen the streets downtown. There is nothing special about you, nothing unique. You’re just a princess with a wallet as big as your ego,” Louis says, his voice icy. Harry looks down, a hurt expression ghosting over his face for a split second before it’s gone, quickly replaced by anger. His nostrils are flaring, and Louis can’t help but smile because he obviously struck a nerve. 

“Yeah? Well you’re an imperious criminal who has made all of his money off the injustices of the system. Everything you have can be attributed to the atrocities you’ve committed. You’ve not only taken the lives of people, but you’ve also taken the lives of their family when their children wonder why their dad never came home. You act like you’re so much better than me because you know the streets, but the reality of it is that you’re not better than anyone. You’re the lowest of the low. You’re not even a human. You’re a monster among men. I may be lucky with how I got my money, but at least I didn’t steal it from people who earned it or take it from the payroll of an evil man,” Harry responds coolly.

Louis feels like he has been slapped in the face, the air visibly leaving his body. He is so mad, and all he wants to do is shut Harry up, so he does. He doesn’t know which one of them makes the first move, but before he knows it, his lips are on Harry's in a steaming kiss. He can hear the breath leave Harry’s nose and hit Louis’ cheek. Harry’s lips are everything he thought they would be, warm and soft. He tastes like toothpaste and syrup, and Louis moans, deepening the kiss. A few seconds later or it could be hours, Louis comes to his senses and pushes Harry away forcefully. 

Harry’s eyes are wide as his hips hit the counter behind him. Louis wipes his mouth, almost disgusted with himself for both doing it and enjoying it so much. His dick is starting to harden in his pants, and his breath is coming out in quick, sharp huffs. What the fuck just happened? One minute they were arguing and the next they were kissing. Louis’ head is spinning. He can’t do this. He has to get out. He can’t continue being in the same room as Harry. He just can’t. He doesn’t even glance in Harry’s direction as he leaves the kitchen, quickly grabbing his phone, wallet and keys from the safe in his room. He shoves his feet into some VANs then slams the door behind him, making sure it’s locked. He doesn’t remember what he says to the guard outside, and he doesn’t care. He needs to get as far away from the house and Harry as possible. 

_____________

Harry is bored. Louis has been gone for hours, but Harry’s lips are still tingling from their kiss. He tried to take his mind off it by meditating and doing a few yoga poses in Louis’ spacious living room, but he found his efforts to be futile. No matter how many times he attempted to clear his mind, the feeling of Louis’ scruff against Harry’s cheek kept pushing its way back to the forefront, followed immediately by how shockingly soft Louis’ firm lips were. How he tasted like mint toothpaste, sweet syrup, and a hint of tobacco that Harry found he enjoyed, much to his dismay. 

He still doesn’t even know how it happened. One minute they were arguing with each other, screaming insults, and the next they were engaged in a passionate kiss. It felt like a glitch in the universe to Harry, and he is questioning if it even happened. If his memories weren’t so vivid, he probably would have convinced himself that it hadn’t. Alas, they are, so he is left completely alone, wondering what happened and what to do. 

He is currently telling himself that he didn’t enjoy it, and that his cock most certainly wasn’t hard by the end of it. He is chalking it up to the fact that he hasn’t been with anyone in so long. That he has suffered traumatic experiences this week. Anything other than finding Louis attractive. No. He certainly does not find that common criminal the least bit attractive. He really is just deprived of human contact and hard up for sex that his body was quick to respond to a kiss. Any man could have kissed him, and Harry is sure his cock would have gotten hard. At least that’s what he’s telling himself. 

Harry sighs, starting to move from the place he dramatically starfished on the floor after attempting a reclining bound angle pose. He really needs to get his mind off of this. He is going stir crazy and is probably suffering from Stockholm Syndrome at this point. It has to be Stockholm Syndrome, right? That’s the psychological condition where people begin to sympathize with their captors and eventually fall in love. Because what Louis was saying made a lot of sense to Harry, and that is the only explanation he can think of at this point. Sure, Louis had made some accusations about Harry that were not true at all, but the basis of his argument is correct, and that is what bothers Harry the most. It rattled him a bit, and that’s all Harry has been thinking about, besides the kiss of course. 

The worth of Harry’s wardrobe at home could probably supply a foodbank with enough materials to operate for at least a year. He told Louis that his father has given money to charity, but that could have been a lie. He really doesn’t know, but he hopes so. Harry hasn’t given any money to charity, but that’s just because his money is limited, unlike his father's. He only has his trust fund to live on. He was planning to give money away once he broke into the modeling industry, but that hasn’t happened yet. He knows that Louis would say he doesn’t _need_ the money that he has. He could live on a fraction of it, but that’s not the point. Is it? 

The issue is, Harry isn’t sure he can argue with his logic because people live off a fraction of the money Harry has every single day, but it’s not Harry’s fault that he was born rich. Okay. Now he is arguing with himself. He needs to find something to occupy his mind before he truly does go insane. He is so frustrated with the whole situation and the questions floating around in his head, he just wants to scream and curse at the top of his lungs, which is a feeling so foreign to him, it shocks him. Yes. He needs to find something to do. 

Harry slowly gets off the floor, the rug feeling plush under his toes. He looks around the living room for the one hundred and forty sixth time, eyeing the television and systems attached. Harry hasn’t watched television in years. He doesn’t even own one, preferring to occupy his time with something more stimulating. In another brief moment of insanity, he is having a lot of those these days it seems, he considers turning it on. Instead, he decides to look around not finding a bookshelf in any corner of the room. 

He opens a closet door in the living room, finding more shoes. He assumes they are Louis’ but some are much too large to belong to the small man. He thinks they are even bigger than his own, which leaves Harry curious and a little bit jealous, even though he would never admit it. Oh God, he hopes he didn’t help Louis cheat on a significant other. He knows Louis said he didn’t have one, but people like Louis cheat all the time. They lie in every other aspect of life, so why should a relationship be any different? He could have a wife and kids up state for all Harry knows at this point. That could be who he is visiting right now. Harry wouldn’t put it past him however, as much as Harry hates to admit it, Louis doesn't strike him as the type, and Louis did say he didn't have anyone. Who do those shoes belong to then? 

He continues snooping around the house, still finding nothing personal. No family photos. No trinkets or heirlooms. Not even any art, which hurts Harry’s soul. How could someone live their life with no art? The only thing that he has found that tells him the least little bit about his new roommate is that he seems to like sports, having many games with that theme next to what Harry assumes is the gaming console. 

He also has quite the movie collection, everything from horror to romantic comedy and most shockingly, Disney. Harry will admit that he did have a few favorite romantic comedies and even Disney movies growing up, but he hasn’t watched either in years. He almost watches The Little Mermaid. He would always watch it with his Nanny because it was his favorite growing up. He had always dreamed of running away, never wanting to be the person his family seemed to expect him to be. 

Harry glances outside, finding the same man standing guard. He doesn’t recognize him, so it’s not Luke, Ashton or Niall. There is also another man on the opposite side of the house. There could be more of them that Harry doesn’t see. Louis wasn’t lying when he said he had all of his bases covered. He decides to go up the stairs, not really finding anything or relevance on the ground floor. He stops in front of Louis’ room, debating about going in. He really wants to take a peek. His curiosity is killing him. He wants to know if Louis’ room is as clean as the rest of the house, as impersonal even. He finds himself wanting to know more about the other man, he feels as though he has barely scratched the surface with their conversations. That confuses him. 

He steps closer to the door, keeping his movements soft and measured, as if the door is a wild animal that will run away as soon as Harry looks at it in the wrong way. He knows the door won’t tell Louis that he has opened it, but it is a weird kind of nagging in the back of his brain. He is doing something he shouldn’t, and he has this feeling that someone or something will tell Louis he has been in there however his curiosity is just too strong. He wants to know what is behind the door. He wants to look inside. It startles him that he may not just be thinking in terms of the room. He pushes that thought out of his head, like many others he has been having lately. 

He swallows, taking another deep breath, as he reaches for the door handle with a shaky hand. His fingers are twitching, the rings adorning them clicking together with the jerky movement as he gets closer to the handle. He has the crazy thought that it may burn him when he touches it. He will be invading someone’s privacy, so does that make him any better than Louis? He is starting to wonder if he has ever been better than Louis, and that thought is making him question his entire existence.

Right as he is about to touch the doorknob, he hears a noise coming from downstairs. He jumps, his whole body jolting with adrenaline. His heart is beating rapidly, blood pumping at full speed through every single vessel. He is shaking, his throat feeling raw from concealing a scream of fear. He doesn’t think Louis would kill him for trying to go into his room. He has had plenty of opportunities to kill him but he hasn’t. He has even saved him in some ways, deciding not to tell Simon that Harry had tried to escape. Simon would have surely killed him if he had found out, and he probably would have decided that ransom money isn’t worth the risk. 

He takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself, and decides to go and investigate. He forces his jittery legs to work, going down the stairs slowly, in fear he will fall down them. He grips the handrail to keep his balance, continuing his breathing techniques that will hopefully slow his racing heart. He wonders if it’s Ashton, Luke or even Niall. He doesn’t know if or when Louis plans to come back, so he isn’t completely sure that it’s him even though this is Louis’ home. When he walks into the kitchen, finding Louis gulping down a glass of water, he is surprised. 

He watches Louis’ scruffy throat bob with the action, as Louis’ blue eyes find his over the top of the glass. Harry keeps eye contact, even though he very much wants to look away. He also really wants to watch the water slide down Louis’ throat. He wants to inspect the way Louis’ lips are wrapped around the rim of the glass. How they are parted to let the liquid through. Harry shakes his head, finding Louis’ eyes again. Louis doesn’t look angry anymore, but he does look tired. Harry is tired too, even though he feels like he hasn’t done anything. It also feels like a month has passed in the last 24 hours alone. Time is a strange concept. 

“Where have you been?” Harry asks, because he really doesn’t have anything better to say and the silence feels like it is gnawing at his skin. He is used to silence. He gets enough of it in his own home, so he doesn’t know why it is bothering him so badly now. Louis just… he seems to fill up a room. His whole personality does. He’s like a light that wraps itself around every surface, getting into every nook and cranny to fill up the negative spaces. Even when it’s silent it isn’t empty, but this time it doesn’t feel that way. 

“Out,” Louis answers shortly. It is then that Harry looks down, finding a skateboard under Louis’ right arm. So, Louis skateboards it seems. It would explain the small sketch of a skateboarding stick figure that is on his right forearm. Harry kind of wants to trace it like he would a painting. Only kind of.

“Wish I could say the same,” Harry responds bitterly, crossing his arms over his chest. He intended the words to have more bite to them, but they came out sounding sad more than anything. Louis’ eyes soften for a split second. Harry wouldn’t have caught it if he hadn’t been staring into them. Harry watches as Louis carefully props the skateboard against the bottom cabinet in the kitchen, the lip resting between the door and the sink. 

The hand Louis has in his pocket reaches out in a flash, so fast, Harry’s eyes couldn’t follow it. His small hand is wrapped around Harry’s wrist and it feels as though it is burning him. Harry looks down in alarm. “What are you doing?” Harry asks, eyes darting between Louis’ eyes and the hand wrapped around his wrist. Louis doesn’t answer right away. He smirks, then wraps what looks to be a plastic bracelet around Harry’s wrist, the click audible throughout the kitchen. 

“You said you wanted to get out of the house, so we’re going on a field trip.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's a bit of a cliffhanger but I don't feel the need to dodge things.... yet. 
> 
> As always, kudos and comments are always welcome! They keep us alive. 
> 
> If you have any questions or concerns or just want to talk to me about this fic or any of my fics, you can follow me on social media. 
> 
> Twitter: Wicked_Archer  
> Tumblr: Wicked-Archer


	5. Tell Me True

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis takes Harry on an adventure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a long one! 12k, so get ready! 
> 
> A quick thank my two betas, Dana and Linda, for reading this fic and putting up with my constant questioning of my sanity. They are amazing friends, and I love them dearly. 
> 
> If you're interested in supporting me as a writer, please look at my [author website](https://lmarcherofficial.com/%20rel=). 
> 
> There is also a [Spotify Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1l6QjjLoOIRPOCgZt8d4YV?si=8kwH6LpvQzik8AfjPVMPIw) that will be updated weekly with the songs represented as chapter titles as well as any other songs I feel fit with the emotions/theme of the chapter.

_Do you think of me the way I think of you?_ _  
_ _Do you hope for things most likely won't come true?_ _  
_ _Do you dream of me like I dream of you?_   
_Tell me darling, please tell me true._ _  
Tell me darling, please tell me true.- Sarah Jarosz_

“Does Simon know you’re doing this?” Harry asks, looking at himself in the mirror skeptically. 

“No,” Louis answers shortly, and Harry really should be used to that. Louis isn’t very forthcoming with information unless they are arguing about something. He hasn’t mentioned the kiss at all, and Harry can’t decide if he is thankful or annoyed. If Louis wants to pretend it didn’t happen, that is fine with Harry. He can act like it’s just a fevered dream. He can add acting to his resume at this point, so yeah, it didn’t happen. No kiss. Harry was hallucinating. 

“Won’t he be mad?” Harry tries again, glancing at Louis out of the corner of his eye. They are in the guest bedroom. Louis is searching around for something, and Harry has no idea what. 

“Yes.” Louis’ answer is short again, and Harry could scream. He just wants to know more. Like why is Louis doing this? Where are they going? What they will be doing? Why would he risk Simon’s wrath for something as trivial as getting Harry out of the house? Why does Louis even care if he goes stir crazy? Isn’t that how they break prisoners down anyway? Harry bites his lip at the endless questions threatening to spill from his mouth because he knows Louis won’t be willing to answer a single one which will just annoy him more. He will probably end up saying something he regrets, and Louis will change his mind about the whole thing. 

It seems dangerous to Harry, that Louis would leave the house with his prisoner. Harry could tell someone what’s happening and ask for help or try to run. At that thought, Harry looks down at the bracelet Louis had snapped around his wrist. He still feels the warmth of Louis’ hand from when he placed it on him, leaving even more of an imprint than the bracelet currently residing there. Louis explained that it was a tracking device. If Harry tried to run, Louis would be able to find him quickly using an app on his phone. It won't stop Harry from trying to communicate with someone though, so that is what he plans to do. 

“This looks ridiculous,” Harry says, scrunching his nose up in disgust at his reflection. He is wearing black jeans that are much tighter than anything he’s worn in recent years. He thinks they may belong to Louis but he can’t be sure, and an oversized camouflage long sleeve shirt. He has never worn camouflage in his life. It is so out of fashion, Harry is slightly disgusted that it is even touching his skin. 

“Well, it ain’t supposed to look like a runway show,” Louis responds with a laugh, another item of clothing in his hands that he seems to have pulled out of a closet. He shows him an ugly black vest, and Harry holds up an arm, allowing Louis to slide it on one shoulder then the other. It feels like fake leather, which Harry is okay with since he is all for saving the animals, however it also feels cheap. That’s one thing he loves about expensive clothes, the feeling of them. The texture is always so soft and smooth. Harry loves the way silk feels against his skin, for example. 

“Where did this stuff even come from?” Harry asks, looking at his reflection again. He just looks… odd. He feels like he is having an out of body experience. He doesn’t look like himself at all, and it is a strange feeling. It’s almost as if he is watching from the outside, and he is no longer wearing his own skin. An imposter has taken over his body and dressed it like a common criminal. Harry isn’t sure how he feels about it, but Louis insisted he had to wear the ensemble for their ‘field trip’ which makes the anxiety in his gut knot up even tighter. What on earth are they going to do? Is Louis going to force him to participate in criminal activities?

“Sit,” Louis instructs, and Harry sits down on the bed. Louis then sighs, as if he doesn’t want to answer yet another question from Harry, but he opens his mouth anyways. “The shirt and vest are Ashton's and the pants are mine. I think there is a pair of Ashton’s boots in the closet downstairs that should fit your big ass feet.” Louis looks down, smirking, and Harry can't seem to stop his toes from wiggling within the confines of his socks. 

“There is,” Harry responds before he even thinks about it. He claps his jaw shut, hoping Louis wasn’t paying attention to his slip up. 

“Why Harold, have you been snooping through my house?” Louis asks, but the question isn’t accusatory. No. Harry thinks he may even hear a hint of teasing, but that can’t be right. Louis should be livid that Harry looked. Harry glances up, and Louis is smirking down at him. Maybe he isn’t mad. 

“No! I wasn’t. I was just… umm…” The lie trails off. Harry has never been a good liar, and then a tinkle of laughter fills the room. It’s the same laugh Harry heard outside the door when they were being held in the warehouse. It’s light and airy, as if a feather couldn’t even touch it. It’s the laugh Harry imagines an angel might have, lighter than the air around it, and so bright, it hurts his eyes. 

“It’s okay if you did,” Louis says with a shrug, bending over to look in the drawers of the night stand. He must not find what he is looking for because he shuts the drawer with a thud, then looks around the room in puzzlement. He holds up a finger to Harry, and Harry nods in response, watching Louis exit the room. While Louis is gone, Harry wracks his brain for some kind of excuse to give Louis, to explain why he was looking through his stuff. 

“I’m sorry I invaded your privacy,” Harry blurts out as soon as Louis comes back in his room, carrying something small in his right hand. Louis looks surprised by the apology, his steps halting for a split second before resuming. Harry wouldn’t have noticed it if he hadn’t been watching his every movement so closely. He feels as though his whole body is attuned to Louis’, and he has no idea why or how it happened. 

“You don’t have to apologize. It’s okay,” Louis says with a shrug as he comes closer to Harry. He places his feet on the floor between Harry’s much larger ones, effectively standing between his knees, and Harry has the sudden urge to reach his hand up and caress Louis’ thighs. He has no idea why. Louis isn't his type, but his thighs look so curvy, the perfect size for Harry’s hands. 

Harry fists his hands to stop himself, shaking his head to dislodge the thoughts from his mind. He really needs to get out of this house. He is definitely going crazy, being deprived of any human contact. The voice in the back of his head reminds him that this isn’t unusual for him. Even if he were in his own home, he still would have no human contact. In fact, he has probably had more with Louis in the past day than he would have had for an entire week in his normal life. He pushes that unpleasant thought away, focusing instead on whatever Louis has in his hand. 

“It was wrong of me,” Harry says in a small voice, deciding to avert his eyes. He does feel guilty. He shouldn’t have looked through Louis’ things. 

“Look up and hold still,” Louis orders, and Harry’s head snaps up. He meets Louis’ eyes and finds himself wanting to look away again. He can feel the blush, from embarrassment and guilt, rising on his cheeks. Louis sighs, dropping his hand, and Harry still has no idea what he is holding, and why he even wants Harry to stay still. “It’s fine. I don’t care that you looked through my things. You were curious, and it’s human. It’s human to do things that are ‘wrong’. It’s human to be imperfect. It was a human thing to do, and there is nothing wrong with it. I figured you would. That’s why I didn’t leave anything lying around that I would care if you saw.” 

“Like what?” Harry asks, his curiosity peaked. He definitely is trying not to think about what Louis just said. About how it is human to do something ‘wrong’ even if it was something as small as what Harry had done. Louis says he shouldn’t feel bad about it, and Harry didn’t at the time. He only started feeling guilty when Louis found out, and what does that say about him? 

“If you must know, I had to find a new spot for my sex toys,” Louis responds, deadpan, and Harry’s mouth gapes open in shock. His what? Harry isn’t a stranger to sex, but he doesn’t have any toys. He had never thought to get them, even though he has been going through a dry spell pretty much his entire life. Louis laughs again, the tinkle filling the room. “Don’t look so surprised. As if you don’t have any.” 

“I don’t,” Harry responds, his mouth still hanging open, making the words sound rounded. 

“Figures you’d be a prude,” Louis says, but his tone isn't mean. It’s more teasing again, and Harry simply doesn’t know what to do. It’s almost like they’re flirting. He feels Louis’ fingers on his chin, tilting it up so he is looking at him again. He watches as Louis unscrews the cap of something that looks suspiciously like liquid eyeliner. When he holds it up Harry’s eyes widen, realizing that is exactly what it is. He is so confused by it. Do criminals wear makeup? He supposes some do, but he didn’t think that Louis would.

“I am not. Besides, what do you need a sex toy for? You have a boyfriend don’t you?” Harry asks, and he doesn’t mean it to sound so bitter. He doesn’t. Louis freezes with the tip of the eyeliner an inch away from Harry’s face. His head tilts, puzzled. Harry sighs, deciding to continue since Louis so obviously wants to play dumb. “Ashton. He’s your boyfriend, right? I mean you have a lot of his clothes. You talk about him all the time. He wrote that note on your dry erase board about how he loves you. His shoes are even in your closet…” Harry’s words are cut off by Louis’ laugh. This one is loud, as if it was ripped from his body. It doesn’t float around the room, but fills it up so completely, Harry doesn’t know how he is breathing. 

“Ash? Oh god no! He’s not my boyfriend. Luke would murder me if I had ever seriously tried. He has been attached to Luke’s hip for years. They aren’t officially together, and I have no idea why. That man is taken though, even if neither of those dumbasses would ever admit it,” Louis explains, laughing more. Harry is holding his breath. He has no idea why. Louis is still giggling when he comes closer to Harry’s face, drawing something right below Harry’s right eye. The eyeliner is wet and cold. Harry does his best not to move, so he doesn’t mess it up. “Like I said before, I don’t have a boyfriend.” Louis’ voice is barely above a whisper, the confession ghosting over Harry’s face, warming him, and Harry lets out the breath he’s been holding. 

“Oh,” Is all Harry says, and a silence falls over them. Louis’ tongue pokes out as he concentrates on whatever he is drawing. Harry thinks it's a teardrop. That’s what it feels like. His expression is adorable, and Harry hates himself for thinking that. Next, he feels Louis’ breath on his face. It hits the wetness of the eyeliner, making it harden instantly. The action is also making Harry’s eyes dry, but he doesn’t want to close them. 

It smells smoky, as if Louis had been puffing on a cigarette recently and normally that would disgust Harry, but right now it's sort of turning him on. He likes watching Louis’ firm lips pucker as he blows, and Harry suddenly wants to paint a picture of Louis blowing on a dandelion, but with the sun shining bright behind him. He can almost see the image in his mind. It shatters when Louis stands up straight. 

“A few more touches,” Louis murmurs more to himself than to Harry. He grabs Harry’s left hand with his right, and Harry is so startled by the action, he almost pulls away. Louis' hand is small and warm, and Harry can’t help but feel as though it’s perfect. His tattoos are stark next to Harry’s pale, unmarred skin and Harry finds himself wanting to trace them. Harry loves to run his fingers along paintings and sculptures, and Louis’ body doesn’t seem much different. Maybe Louis does enjoy art. It’s etched into his skin afterall, but Harry has never thought of tattoos as art. They are though, aren’t they? It's the same basic concept. 

Louis pokes his tongue out in concentration again, and Harry bites his lip to suppress a smile. He watches Louis draw a semi straight line on Harry’s hand between his thumb and index finger. He draws a smaller line through it, creating a cross. He rears back, admiring it. It’s not bad. It’s not super straight, but neither is Harry. He watches Louis pucker his lips again, blowing cool air on his skin. Harry finds he doesn’t mind the look of the cross on his hand, and thinks it may actually make a good tattoo. Never again. He promised himself. 

Louis drops his hand, and Harry instantly misses the touch. Louis smiles at him, then crooks his finger, instructing Harry to follow him. They leave the room and go down the stairs. Louis goes to the closet in the living room, and he is in there for far longer than it takes to find the boots that were sitting on top. He emerges with the boots in hand but also with something else. He gives the boots to Harry then places bright almost fluorescent yellow beanie on top of Harry curls. Harry pulls on the boots quickly. They are a size too big, but they will work. 

Harry glances at himself in the mirror and doesn’t even recognize the person staring back at him. He is pretty sure his own mother wouldn’t know him if he passed her, and suddenly it all makes sense. The outfit change is two fold. One so Harry will blend in wherever they are going, and two, there is no way anyone would recognize him dressed like this. Harry has to admit that Louis is a genius. He will never say that out loud though. Nope. 

“Okay. So, you are going to wear a blindfold until we get to where we are going. You will stay by my side the entire time, and you will not speak unless I speak to you. If anyone asks, your name is Haz, and you are new to the organization. I’m showing you the ropes. Don’t even try to run. I won’t be as nice as I was last time you tried that shit. Do you understand?” Louis asks, his tone hard and cold. Harry swallows, nodding. He almost forgot what Louis is. Almost forgot he is a criminal and a killer. He feels like his words have slammed him back down into reality. How could he forget? 

They leave the house, and Harry doesn’t see a guard nearby. He breathes the fresh air in deeply, having thought it would be a long time until he felt it in his lungs again. He wonders if Louis told the guards to go home or told them what he was doing. He doubts they know anything. He gets in the car and takes the blindfold Louis hands him. He puts it on, his world going dark. Louis turns on some music that Harry finds himself not hating completely. 

As Louis drives, the car is mostly silent other than the tunes coming from the speakers and Louis occasionally singing under his breath. At first, Harry didn’t realize it was Louis’ actual voice, but then as he listened more, he heard the same beautiful tone in every song coming to the conclusion that Louis is actually singing. He has a nice voice, light and raspy, much like his speaking voice, and Harry finds himself lulled by it. He wishes he could see his surroundings, however, he has gotten used to the sensation of the car moving but not being able to see everything pass by. 

“Okay, you can take off the blindfold,” comes Louis’ voice, and Harry almost didn’t realize he was speaking to him. He had been so focused on his voice while singing that changing the cadence kind of threw him off a bit. Harry reaches up, taking off the blindfold, squinting when the bright sunlight hits his sensitive eyes. He blinks the spots away, his surroundings slowly coming into focus. They are in the city again, and Harry can see people walking all around them. He has the sudden urge to start yelling for help, but he knows that Louis would put a stop to that quickly. He would probably never see the light of day again. If he is going to get help, he needs to be more discreet. 

“Where are we?” Harry asks, realizing he doesn’t recognize the part of town they are in. Nothing looks familiar, even though Harry has lived in the area his entire life. The sun is starting to go down, peeking through the tall buildings eventually finding its way through the window. Harry didn’t realize how late it was. It will be dark soon, and he will be roaming around in some unknown part of town with a criminal. How did he get himself into this situation? 

“Not shocked you wouldn’t recognize it. We’re on the east end,” Louis tells him, and oh. 

“Louis why would you bring me here? This is dangerous! We’re going to get shot!” Harry whispers furiously, hand gripping the door handle. He looks around in panic, seeing all of the people surrounding them that may very well kill them. It explains why Harry doesn't recognize the area. He has never set foot in this part of town. It’s where all of the gang activity is, and where most of the crime in the city takes place. 

“They’re just people going about their daily lives. You’ll be fine. You’re with me,” Louis responds, as if that is supposed to somehow magically make Harry feel better. His breathing is beginning to become irregular, leaving his body in quick sharp huffs. Louis looks over at him, studying him for a second before he says, “I promise I won’t let anything happen to you. Uncle Simon would murder me if I did, but I wouldn’t even if he didn’t play a part in this. I try not to let bad things happen to good people. Even though I find you annoying, I don’t think you’re bad, just maybe naive. Either way, we will be fine. People out here know me. They won’t fuck with me, so trust me, yeah?” 

Louis is looking at him with big blue eyes, his chest not rising or falling with breath, as if he is holding it in. Harry thinks a part of him melted into the leather seat of the vehicle with Louis’ speech, and he almost hates himself for it. Louis doesn’t think he’s a bad person, and for some reason, that statement is stuck in his mind. Harry is completely alone in his life, and he has always wondered if maybe it’s because he is a bad person. Maybe that’s why everyone leaves him. Harry nods once, and Louis smiles so brightly, it dims the sun coming through the windshield. 

“Okay. Just stick with me. Remember, don’t speak unless I speak to you, and your name is Haz,” Louis reminds him, opening the door. Harry takes a deep breath and does the same, stepping onto the curb. Despite the sun shining, it is cold out, and Harry is thankful for the long sleeved shirt and vest covering his torso. He pulls the bright fluorescent yellow beanie down further, keeping the wind from his ears as he watches Louis jog around the car, coming to stop beside him. Harry takes another deep breath. 

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Harry asks, looking over at Louis. The smaller man has lit a cigarette, the smoke drifting into Harry's nostrils. He makes a face, but decides not to comment. Louis firm lips are wrapped around the filter for a split second, the end alight then his hand comes up, placing the filter between his dainty fingers as he exhales the smoke from his lungs. Harry wants to take a picture and hang it in a gallery. 

“Nope,” Louis responds, popping the ‘p’, breaking Harry out of his trance. It takes Harry a moment to remember what he asked, but once he does he is so taken aback by the casual truth, he bursts out laughing. He claps a hand over his mouth, looking around at the attention he has drawn with his outburst. One woman is staring at them, but she just shakes her head and keeps walking, others don't seem fazed. Louis is smiling, his eyes twinkling in the light. 

“I feel like a poser,” Harry murmurs, turning to face forward as he pulls on his black vest. He is just very uncomfortable in this outfit, not at all like himself. He looks down, finding comfort in the chipped paint on his nails. He’s surprised Louis didn’t ask him to take it off. 

“That’s because you are. Now c'mon. It’s getting dark, and we’ve got shit to do,” Louis says, slapping him on the arm to get him moving. As they walk, he notices Louis keeping a very close eye on him. He resists the urge to play with the tracker that is currently wrapped around his wrist, hidden under his sleeve. In this part of town, even if he did scream out for help, he doubts anyone would even bother paying attention. It would be useless. The police only visit here if they have to. 

He watches curiously as Louis bumps into a man wearing a very expensive suit. Harry’s steps falter, as Louis’ body is jolted back. “I’m so sorry! I was talking to my friend here and wasn’t even watching where I was going! My apologies!” Louis exclaims, smiling brightly at the disgruntled man. 

“Watch it next time,” the man growls, swerving around Louis to keep walking. Harry watches him go, briefcase in hand. He reminds Harry of the lawyers his father surrounded himself with on more than one occasion. Stodgy and stuffy. Harry has never wanted to be the kind of person that always wore expensive suits like they do. Yes, his clothes are expensive, but he uses them as a creative outlet. They are fun and free. There is nothing freeing about that suit. Harry feels like he is suffocating just by looking at it. His eyes widen when he turns back towards Louis who is holding a very expensive wallet, rummaging through its contents. 

“Where did that come from?” Harry asks, looking around in panic, feeling sick. Louis takes a long draw from his cigarette, breathing the smoke out from the corner of his mouth, away from Harry. 

“The clouds opened up and Jesus handed it to me with a holy hand while you were checking out Mr. Slick Stick-Up-The-Ass,” Louis answers, sarcasm dripping from every syllable. 

“What? I wasn’t checking him out,” Harry defends, brows drawn together in annoyance. That man was so not his type. Harry doesn’t even know what his type is since he hasn’t dated anyone in far too long, but he usually went for artists or photographers. Never a loser in a suit. He doesn't know why It bothers him so much that Louis thought the man was his type. He won’t let it bother him. “Wait. Forget that. Why does it matter if I was? Where did that come from?” 

Louis rolls his eyes, the expression on his face somewhere between a smirk and a scowl. He tries to start walking again, but Harry stills him with a firm hand on his shoulder. They are standing in the middle of the sidewalk, people veering to walk around them, but Harry is undeterred. He just stares at Louis, waiting. “God you’re so fucking annoying. Fine. I pinched it. You happy?”

“You what?” Harry asks, even more confused. 

“I stole it for fucks sake,” Louis hisses, and Harry’s eyes widen. He looks around, seeing if anyone heard them. If they had, they are acting none the wiser. 

“What the fu… frick?” Harry corrects himself, almost allowing a curse word to slip. Harry will not lower himself to that level. He may be dressed like Louis, but he refuses to act or speak like him. 

“God you’re such a tight assed little priss,” Louis says, and Harry’s mouth falls open in offense. He can’t believe he actually was starting to trust this criminal. This just reminds Harry of who Louis really is. A common thief with no empathy for anyone but himself. 

“He could need that money for something. He could have a family. He could be buying his daughter a bike with it for her birthday!” Harry whispers, disappointment lacing his tone. 

“Oh please, Harry. Don’t be so naive. He was probably on his way to pay a hooker to peg him while he snorts blow off some dude's dick. If he does have a family, he probably ignores them as much as possible and buys their love with presents. I don’t think he is gonna miss the 253 bucks in cash that he had in his wallet. I didn’t think it would be worth it, and it barely was,” Louis responds calmly, and his assumptions about the lawyer’s life hits a little too close to home for Harry, memories of many nights eating dinner with no one but his nanny. His dad bought him extravagant gifts for his birthday but never had a game night with them like a normal family. They never had a game night, period. Harry shakes his head, dislodging the thought. 

“If it wasn’t worth it, then why did you do it?” Harry asks instead, curious. 

“To see if I still could,” Louis answers, holding his head up high with a smile. Harry hates himself for wanting to return that smile. It’s a stupid reason, but Louis looks proud of himself, and it dawns on him that this isn’t the first time Louis has stolen someone’s wallet. Exactly how long has he been doing this? It happened so quickly, Harry didn’t even see Louis’ hand reach into the man’s breast pocket. He was watching the whole interaction and didn’t notice a thing. Louis is a pro. 

Harry shakes his head as he watches Louis stick the wallet in the pocket of his army green jacket. When Louis realizes that Harry doesn’t have more to say, they resume walking, Harry silently following Louis’ steps, but managing to stay beside him. He still can’t believe he just witnessed Louis pick some poor man’s pocket, but the things Louis said are racing through his mind. Harry knows he tends to think the best of people, especially if they seem well dressed and sophisticated, but what if Louis is right? How many people has Harry labeled as ‘good’ when they were really horrible? How many of his dad’s lawyers cheated on their wives? How many of them handled dirty money? Harry has never asked himself these questions, but the possible answers are scary. How are those people any better than the people involved in shady activities that he is currently surrounded by? 

Harry stays quiet as they walk a few more blocks, crossing the street twice. Louis glancing between buildings as if he is looking for someone. He sees two guys chatting on the corner of the street they are approaching, their bodies covered in shadows from a nearby building. One looks around, while he hands something to the taller one. The taller man glances down at the item, then they clap hands obviously exchanging money. That was a drug deal. Harry just witnessed a drug deal. He nudges Louis, but Louis doesn’t break his stride towards their direction. Great. They are blatantly walking into danger. Just perfect. 

Harry watches as the taller man looks around, then walks off leaving the shorter one to shove his hand in his pocket, also glancing around in the opposite direction they are approaching from. Harry gasps when Louis grabs the man by the shirt collar, pushing him in a darkened alleyway. The man yells out in surprise, his body going with the momentum of Louis’ as he is manhandled into the dark. Harry glances around, but no one is even paying them any attention, so he follows Louis, ducking into the alley. He wants to ask Louis what he thinks he is doing and to unhand the man, but Louis just glares. 

“Tommo. How are ya buddy? Doing good? Uncle Simon treating you okay?” The man asks, his voice quivering almost as much as his limbs. He is about the same height as Louis, but Louis seems taller somehow, more menacing as he crowds around him. Harry just stands back, unable to do anything but watch. He really doesn’t want to get shot. 

“Cut the small talk, Critter,” Louis growls, and Harry’s cock twitches in his too tight pants. Louis releases the man, but keeps his body close, so that Critter can’t get away without Louis grabbing him. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” 

“What d'ya mean, Tommo?” Critter stutters out, but even Harry can tell he knows exactly what Louis is referring to. Harry is curious as well, even though he knows he shouldn’t be. He shouldn’t care about what criminals are doing, but Louis looks angry. Harry has never seen him look that way, not even when he tackled Harry to the ground after trying to escape. His nostrils are flaring, and one hand is balled into a tight fist. His posture is stiff, threatening, and Harry is suddenly so glad he’s not Critter right now. 

“You know exactly what I mean you twitchy little fuck nut,” Louis says, pushing Critter hard, the thud his back makes when it hits the concrete wall behind him is louder than Harry had expected. Harry tries to stop his eyebrows from hitting his beanie at the colorful language, but he is a bit surprised by the creativity. Critter pales even more, his body shaking like a small dog in a purse. Harry opens his mouth to intervene, not wanting Louis to hurt the man. He may be a lowlife, but he is still human, right? Louis must read Harry’s mind because he shoots him a death glare, somehow keeping one eye on Harry and one eye on Critter. 

“I really don’t. I swear. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Critter’s voice is breathy, and Harry isn’t sure if it’s from fear or from Louis literally knocking the air out of his lungs. His breaths are coming out quick, short and choppy, being released from his chapped lips in little huffs. Harry is somewhat concerned for his health, even though Louis seems to be feeling the opposite. 

“You’re a bad fucking dealer and an ever worse liar,” Louis says through gritted teeth, grabbing Critter by the shirt collar and pushing his body against the wall again. His head hits with a muted thud, and Harry barely suppresses a grimace. The guy probably has a concussion now. Harry tries to stay in character, nodding his head to what Louis is saying, acting like the criminal he is supposed to be. He tells himself it’s like modeling except extended into acting. He has always wanted to act, so this can just be an audition of sorts. 

“Okay. Okay. I lost some of the goods,” Critter confesses, but it must be the wrong thing to say because Louis’ fist is suddenly in the air. Harry watches as it connects with the man’s nose, almost in slow motion. Critter howls in pain, hands immediately flying up to grab his now bleeding nose. Harry tries his best to keep his face neutral as the blood begins pouring out, dripping down his chin and onto his shirt. His hands are already covered in the sticky red substance, and his eyes are watering. 

“Fucking liar,” Louis spits, his tone laced with venom. Harry shouldn’t find it hot. He shouldn’t be getting turned on by the scene unfolding in front of him, but the blood in his body is starting to rush towards his cock. He hates himself for it, but there is just something about Louis’ demanding demeanor that has Harry squirming, as if he is itching out of his skin. “You know I hate being lied to. You know you shouldn’t fucking lie to me. Now. I am going to ask once again, and you should really think about your answer this time. I know how difficult this must be for you since the hamster on your wheel died years ago from an OD. What the _fuck_ do you think you’re doing?”

“I swear it was just a little. I swear. A tiny bit,” Critter stammers out, holding his bloody hand up in the air, as if swearing an oath. Harry is so confused. A little of what? Critter's nose is already swollen, blood still trickling out. Harry kind of wants to throw up. He has never really seen that much blood, and now he is feeling as though he is getting a crash course in it. 

“A tiny bit? Critter are you fucking kidding me? We gave you enough snow to bring back five G’s, but you only brought back one. I know you have a hard time processing math in that shriveled up raisin you call a brain, so I’m gonna help you out. It. Doesn’t. Add. Up. So tell me, shit prick, where did the other four thousand worth of snow go? Hmm?” Louis asks, and Harry has no idea what snow is. He is assuming it is some type of drug, given the context of the conversation. Louis mentioned that Critter is a drug dealer, but he had no idea that Simon has his hands in drugs as well. It shouldn’t be surprising, but it is. He is just as shocked that Louis is involved in this. He is also disgusted with himself for finding Louis at all attractive. How could he like someone that is involved in so much illegal activity? Drugs are horrible. They destroy lives and homes. 

“I don’t know,” Critter babbles, blood coating his teeth, coming out in his spit as he sputters the words. Harry’s stomach rolls at the sight, but Louis is unflinching. 

“Critter, I swear to God that if you say those words one more time, I will nail you by your prick to a flagpole and begin singing the Star Spangled Banner,” Louis threatens, and Harry bursts out laughing. He doesn't mean to. He has no idea what has come over him. He just wasn't expecting Louis to say that. He claps his hand over his mouth, looking up to find Louis staring at him with a bemused smile. 

“What’s his problem?” Critter asks, glaring at Harry. Harry drops his hand, opening his mouth to stutter out a reply. 

“I made him laugh, you dumbfuck,” Louis responds over Harry’s incomprehensible stammers, and Harry is relieved. He had no idea what to say, and still doesn’t know why he laughed. He was just so caught off guard by the humor laced through his threats. What is wrong with him? 

“Who is he anyway? I don’t think I recognize ‘im,” Critter says, squinting at Harry through beady eyes. Harry freezes. He isn’t sure what to do. He suddenly feels like a little boy caught in his mother’s clothes. He can feel his cheeks flaming, so he looks down, breaking any and all eye contact. He should have told Louis this would never work. He probably sticks out like a Gucci handbag amongst Louis Vuitton. 

“None of your fucking business, and lets not forget who is asking the questions here, Critter. Where the fuck did the other 4 Gs of snow go? If you like having your dick attached to your body, you will use a sentence that does not include the words ‘I don’t know’.” Louis is menacing, his words coming out between gritted teeth, the hissing noise that made up each syllable filling the alleyway. When Critter starts to sputter again, clearly preparing for another lie, Louis punches him in the stomach. His body doesn’t have anywhere to go, with the wall behind him, so the momentum of the force comes out in a painful groan. 

"You have exactly 2.3 seconds to answer my question or you will be looking at what's left of your dick through one eye," Louis says, the words sounding like a promise. He holds Critter against the wall, turning the lit end of his mostly gone cigarette to his open eye. Critter is crying, tears streaming down his face as he tries to move away from the lit end. He has nowhere to go, though, Louis holding him firmly. 

“I- I- I used it,” Critter admits through labored breaths, and Louis lowers his hand. Harry catches Louis smiling, as if he is proud of himself for finally managing to get it out of Critter. It was a horrible way to get an answer out of the poor man. If he uses whatever drug they are referring to, then he needs help, not Louis beating him up. “Not all of it though. I gave some to hookers in exchange for favors.” Harry barely grimaces at that. Favors? 

“Thank you for admitting it,” Louis says, his voice switching from firm to gentle in an instance. He hoists the man up, straightening his posture and fixing his shirt. Harry wonders where Louis is going with this. He can tell Louis is still angry, his posture stiff, but his face is almost sickenly sweet. 

“You’re not gonna tell Uncle Simon are ya?” Critter asks, his eyes watery. Harry has heard Louis and Niall refer to Simon as ‘Uncle’ on more than one occasion, but for the first time he wonders why. Is it some sort of title? 

“You mean you don’t want him to know that the goods he so generously gave you to sell were, instead, used so you can dip your dick in a hooker? Or better yet, you don’t want him to know that you used some yourself, probably paid some poor underaged girl to let your nasty ass snort it off her tits?” Louis asks, his voice starting to get more harsh with each word uttered. Harry tries not to let his thoughts show on his face, but it is difficult. A hooker? As in a prostitute? What kind of lowlife would pay someone for sex, but the underage girl is what has Harry’s head really spinning. What had to happen in a girl's life for her to turn to that kind of thing as a way to get by, at such a young age? That can’t really happen, can it? 

“Please. He will kill me. Please,” Critter begs, falling to his knees to look up at Louis. 

“And what makes you think I give a single fuck about your life, huh?” A chill goes up Harry’s spine at Louis’ words, the cold indifference that is somehow woven between each and every dictation. Harry feels sick. How could he have kissed someone like this? Someone that is this cold and heartless. Someone that has no remorse for beating a man up and is literally watching him beg for his life without blinking. How could someone be this way? 

“It won’t happen again. I promise. Please,” Critter pleads, his bloody hands grasping Louis’ shoes. Louis grimaces and steps aside, his gaze still locked on Critter. He doesn’t say anything, instead kneeing Critter in the face. The crack of his jaw ricochets off the walls and the dumpster surrounding them, so loud when it finds its way to Harry’s ears , he wants to cover them. Critter falls to the ground, grabbing his face, more blood gushing between his fingers. Next, Harry watches Louis kick the man in the torso three times, and his stomach rolls. He then flicks the butt of his cigarette on his lifeless form. 

Louis doesn’t even spare Harry a glance as he ducks out of the alley. Harry carefully steps around Critter, his body writhing in pain. He should probably check on him, offer him some kind of assistance, maybe even call 911, but he can’t. He is under Louis’ control. He doesn’t have a choice. He finds Louis as soon as he gets back onto the street. “Shouldn’t you call someone to help him?” Harry whispers. 

“Nah. He’ll be fine,” Louis answers shortly, waving Harry’s concern away. Louis begins walking, and Harry doesn’t have any choice but to follow him. 

“Louis, he seemed severely hurt. He could have internal bleeding. He needs help. Don’t you have any feelings for a human life?” Harry asks, trying to give Louis the benefit of the doubt. Give him an opportunity to do the right thing for once in his life and help someone in need. 

“Yes, I care about human life, but he is a cockroach,” Louis responds, not making eye contact with Harry. Harry has no idea why he is even following him, he could be trying to run. He could be attempting to tell someone who he is, but he doesn’t. Instead he follows Louis to argue with him, and he does not know _why_. 

“He is a human being, Louis. How could you be such a monster to just leave him like that?” Harry asks, and something in his tone makes Louis stop. He turns in the middle of the street to look at Harry through squinted blue eyes. Good. Maybe Harry will get him to see that he is a monster. A cold, heartless, monster. 

“Harry, that dude is a piece of fucking shit. He has been in jail three times and has been given numerous opportunities to change his ways. He has been in and out of rehab and has been provided with every single chance to turn his life around. Instead, he continues to sell drugs, use them, and in his free time he gets his jollys raping women and having children he never intends to take care of. I have zero issues with sex workers, as long as they are all concenting adult and they chose that life however he isn’t worth the air he breathes,” Louis says, and Harry’s words die on his lips. 

That was a lot. Harry closes his mouth and swallows at his moral dilemma. Harry doesn’t even consider Louis’ comment about the sex work because, well, he has a point, so Harry chooses to focus on Critter. He didn’t know that the man raped women or had children he didn’t take care of, but did that mean he deserves the beating he just took? Harry isn’t exactly sure of the answer, and the fact that he is even contemplating the question scares him. It’s a human life. It should be cut and dry. No one deserves to die, do they? 

__________

“Want some ice cream?” Louis asks, when they walk through the front door of his house. Louis has no idea what possessed him to bring Harry into the city with him or why he is currently asking him if he wants ice cream after running a few more errands. Harry has remained mostly quiet since their conversation about Critter, staying in the background as Louis checked on a few others employed by Simon. He didn’t really beat any of them up, just spoke with them. None of it was that important or even relevant. Harry couldn’t use any of it against him or Simon to be honest. 

“Umm… is it organic, non-fat or non-dairy,” Harry asks, and when Louis just responds with a dry look, Harry shuts his mouth quickly, only opening it again to answer “Sure,” as he takes off Ashton's boots. Louis makes quick work of grabbing a carton of ice cream, two spoons, and leading them into the living room. 

“Let's watch something. Not really tired,” Louis says, even though it is beginning to get late. He didn’t think they were gone that long, so when he noticed the sun had disappeared behind the buildings earlier, he was a little shocked. He goes to sit down on the couch, but notices Harry doesn’t follow him so he looks up to find him standing, staring at Louis' hands. Just as Louis is about to ask ‘what’, Harry’s deep voice speaks. 

“What about bowls?”

“Does the princess need a bowl to eat ice cream out of? Does it need to be made of gold with ornate designs?” Louis asks with a smirk, a teasing nature to his tone. Harry must understand that he is only joking because he smiles, dimple popping, and shakes his head. He then sits down beside Louis, taking the proffered spoon with a quiet ‘thank you’. 

“What do you wanna watch?” Louis asks, grabbing the remote and turning the TV on. He is hyper aware of Harry’s body moving beside him, the way his elbow and knee touches Louis’ everytime he makes a subtle movement. Louis tries not to think about it. Tries not to allow his own nervous energy to show in the form of jerky motions or frozen limbs. 

“I don’t watch TV,” Harry responds, and that causes Louis’ head to snap in Harry’s direction. Harry doesn’t look like he is lying at all, his face is very matter-of-fact, and Louis doesn’t really know why he is so surprised. Harry probably doesn’t even have a TV. Louis shrugs, finding reruns of America’s Next Top Model. He thinks it’s season 22, but he can’t be sure. He shrugs again, sitting the remote down to open the ice cream container. 

“What is this?” Harry asks curiously, his head tilting as he watches the screen playing in front him. Louis glances back up to see the models doing some sort of runway challenge. Harry scrapes his spoon over the surface of the ice cream, creating a perfectly smooth plane, a direct contrast to Louis’ method of pushing his spoon in as far as it can go and scooping out. 

“America’s Next Top Model,” Louis answers, and when Harry looks confused, he decides to elaborate. “It’s a show Tyra Banks created. They choose a group of people to compete and the winner receives a modeling contract and a few other things.” 

“Oh. I’ve never heard of it,” Harry says, and Louis really shouldn’t be shocked however his expression is saying something very different. 

“You’ve never heard of ANTM. Don’t you wanna be a model or something? That’s what the show is about.” Louis gestures towards the TV, his arm rubbing against Harry’s with the motion. An electric spark travels up the veins in his arm and straight to his heart, but Louis ignores it. He doesn't know why Harry affects him in such a way. It has to be the fact that he hasn’t been this physically close to anyone in a long time. It doesn’t help the situation that Harry is so warm, and Louis is very cold, the ice cream making him shiver. The lower half of Harry’s body is now under the blanket with Louis’, and he isn’t sure how or when that happened. 

“But it’s reality TV, which means it probably isn’t real,” Harry points out and Louis just shrugs, shoving his spoon into the hard ice cream. Harry is quiet again after that, occasionally grabbing a bit of ice cream, watching the TV and scoffing when he sees something, that Louis would assume, is inaccurate. That was the most he has spoken since Louis’ incident with Critter, and it seems that he is once again lost in thought, judging by the far off expression currently occupying his face. He can tell Harry is thinking about something, so he takes a bite of ice cream and waits. If there is anything he has learned about Harry in his time with him is that he is not shy about voicing his thoughts. 

“Why did you decide to take me with you today?” Harry finally asks, and Louis wasn’t expecting that at all. He was expecting to continue the conversation about Critter. Harry had been so quiet all afternoon, Louis isn’t exactly sure what’s been going through his head. Louis isn’t even sure what is going through his own. Everything felt muddled, but being out on the streets somehow helped him think clearly. 

“I don’t know. After our… erm… argument,” Louis starts, clearing his throat as he feels his face heating up, thank God it’s currently dark in the living room. “I took a walk, well a skate I guess, and I realized it wasn’t really fair that you couldn’t leave or go outside to clear your head. Then you made that comment when I got back, so I just decided that you should get out of the house a little bit. I would hate being cooped up. I mean, I know you’re a prisoner or whatever, but you didn’t really do anything wrong. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time because you’re nosy as fuck, and we are just reaping the rewards through a mutually beneficial agreement.” 

“Mutually beneficial agreement? Louis, it’s called kidnapping, but you would have made a great lawyer,” Harry responds with a giggle, and Louis allows his own lips to quirk into a smile. At first it was weird seeing Harry dressed in Ashton’s clothes because before that, Louis had only seen him in really fancy clothes or in his own. It has slowly become normal to him over the past few hours, even though the bright, chipped nail polish on his fingernails serves as a harsh reminder that Harry doesn’t belong in his world, no matter how much he can look the part. 

“A lawyer? Nah. That’s too uptight for me. Never really wanted to do that. Niall though. I think he had big dreams once,” Louis tells him, chewing a bite of his ice cream, screwing his eyes shut when he gets a brain freeze. He hears Harry laugh, so he flips him off for good measure. 

“He’s like your best friend right? How did you meet him? Like did you meet him because of your job or like were you childhood friends?” Harry asks, and Louis wasn’t expecting such a personal question. He debates on how he wants to answer. Harry looks genuinely curious, and Louis hates himself for wanting to tell him the truth. He decides to go for something vague. 

“Yeah he’s more than my best friend; I trust him with my life. We met at a shelter,” Louis says, his voice going an octave higher with the truth that feels as though it is scraping over his skin, leaving it raw. Louis glances at Harry, finding his dark brows creased in the light of the TV. He has removed his beanie, revealing matted down curls. They both had already taken off their jackets, leaving them in just their shirts and pants. Harry is still wearing socks, while Louis toed off his half an hour ago, his bare feet propped on the table in front of him. 

“What do you mean by shelter?” Louis takes another bite of the ice cream, trying to decide if Harry’s question is genuine. He didn’t hear any mocking in his tone. Louis guesses it’s feasible for Harry to not know what he meant by that since Harry seems to live his life in a bubble. 

“A homeless shelter. One for youth specifically. We both ended up at the same one,” Louis answers, trying to keep his voice even. He usually doesn’t discuss his time in the shelter with anyone, not even Niall really. He goes back and visits often, but he doesn’t talk about his experience there. 

“What were you doing in a homeless shelter?” Harry’s voice is soft, almost disbelieving. It makes Louis angry for some reason. He doesn’t like pity. He doesn’t need to be pitied. He has had a rough life, but it hasn’t always been bad. Simon made it a lot better, and he is very thankful for that. 

“We were homeless,” Louis answers, his tone going distant. It’s the only way he can talk about it. Remove himself from it. Louis shivers, suddenly cold in his house. It’s cold outside, so it’s not surprising. Louis barely resists the urge to cuddle closer to Harry, the warmth radiating from his body almost addicting. Instead, Louis takes the blanket on their legs and pulls it closer to his chest, cuddling down into it. 

“Oh,” Harry says, the word falling from his lips softly, but it feels like it punches Louis in the gut. He did not expect this conversation to turn so heavy. He doesn't know why he isn’t turning off the TV and going upstairs. He feels frozen to the spot, wanting to know how this will play out. “ Um… Can I… umm… can I ask why? Like I genuinely don’t know how people end up in homeless shelters.” He can hear the nerves in Harry’s voice, and Louis can’t stop the words that tumble out of his mouth. 

“Well Niall has been in and out of the system his whole life. His dad left before he was born and his mom was on drugs. He was born addicted to some kind of drug. Never told me what. Anyways, he lived with his grandma throughout his childhood, but she was old and frail. Let him do whatever he wanted, so he started getting into trouble pretty early I think. His mom would visit, make empty promises and all that shit about cleaning up her life. She never did. His grandma died of a stroke when he was thirteen. He found her dead when he got home from school one day. After that, he was in and out of foster homes. He got the hell beat out of him by one of his foster dads one day, and decided to run away,” Louis tells him. 

“Oh. Wow. Won’t Niall be mad at you for telling his story?” Harry asks, his mouth open in shock. Louis thinks about the question, allowing the cool ice cream to melt on his tongue. He slouches, his body leaning even more into Harry’s. If the other man minds it, or even notices, he doesn’t say anything. Louis tells himself that it’s for warmth. His body has begun shivering uncontrollably, so he needs something to keep him warm. Harry is just the easiest way to combat it since he is like a warm fire burning beside him. 

“Nah. He’s laid back. He’s open about his past. Anyways, he’s younger than me, and he was getting bullied by an older boy at the shelter. Didn't want to give him a cot and was trying to take his portion of food. I had been there for a while, so I stepped in. Told the boy to fuck off then gave Niall the last pack of crackers I had as a way to show him that not all of us are that bad. We were all just trying to survive and some did it with displaced aggression. We have been best friends ever since,” Louis finishes, not really having much more to say. He holds his breath, silently praying to whatever god that so happens to be listening that Harry doesn't ask about why Louis was in the shelter. 

He chances a glance at Harry, and his expression is almost impossible to read. He looks contemplative, as if Louis said something that shook him, but Louis can’t for the life of him figure out what that could have been. Louis clears his throat, and that seems to break Harry’s trance. “So… umm… what about you? Who is your best friend? Did you meet them at some ritzy private school or while you were traveling Europe?” Louis allows a smile, hoping it seeps into his tone, for some reason wanting Harry to understand that he isn’t judging him.

“Me?” Harry asks, his voice going a tad higher with the word. Louis can’t tell if he is panicked or confused. Louis just nods, eating another bite of his ice cream as he waits. “Oh… umm… I- I guess Liam.”

“He’s your assistant though,” Louis says before he is able to stop the words from leaving his mouth. He never did have much of a filter when it came to certain situations, especially those that involve intimacy. For some reason, this feels intimate to Louis. Harry sitting so close to him, in a darkened room. The TV is the only thing shedding light on their stories, the only thing that is allowed to in the moment. 

“Umm… yeah he is… but I guess I don’t really have any other friends. Liam is the only person I, like, talk to about my problems or whatever,” Harry explains, his body language becoming stiff. He is clearly uncomfortable with the topic, but Louis’ interest is piqued. He should back off, but he doesn't really care if he makes Harry uncomfortable. If Harry gets mad at him, it doesn't matter. Not like Harry could go anywhere, and he will be gone in a few days. Louis will never see him again, so what does he have to lose? 

“Really? I figured you’d have a whole host of friends with yachts and skiing trips or whatever it is rich kids do. The whole nine,” Louis says, even though he kind of knew that Harry didn’t have anyone. Luke figured that much out through his research, but Louis isn’t going to lie, not even to himself. He is very curious as to _why_ someone like Harry doesn’t have any friends. As much as he annoys Louis, he seems nice enough. There isn’t anything inherently wrong with him. He’s a tightass but a lot of ppl with money are, if you ask Louis. Harry could easily find like minded individuals to make as friends. 

“Oh no. I’m more of a loner I suppose. I usually keep myself closed off to people because I don’t know if they really like me or if they like my money. Or I guess my parents' money that is given to me. I used to hang out with this one group, but they started getting into drugs and partying all the time. Their dads would buy their diplomas and their way into whatever business they wanted. I didn’t really want to do that,” Harry responds, and Louis does everything he can to mask his shock. He did not expect all of that. He also never considered the fact that someone would use Harry for his money. 

“Why didn’t you want to do that?” Louis asks, setting the now empty ice cream container on the table in front of him. Harry brings his spoon up to his full lips, licking the rest of the sweet treat off as he contemplates his answer. Louis suppresses a groan because now is not the right time to get hard. Harry’s lips are just so fucking full, bright red now, the skin irritated by the cold snack. 

“I don’t know. My father wanted me to take over the company from a very young age. Always told me I would, but I hate it. I hate the idea of having that life. He said it was my only choice if I wanted to keep the wealth that I have, so I kind of just wanted to prove to him that I could do something on my own, without his help. I mean, I guess I still have his help from my trust fund, and I haven’t done anything on my own besides getting kidnapped.” Harry’s tone is sad, and Louis ignores the stabbing sensation piercing through his own chest. He can not feel sorry for Harry. He needs to keep seeing Harry as a cartoon bag with dollar signs, nothing more than a check. 

“I respect that,” Louis says, and he means it. He does respect Harry’s for thinking and feeling that way. “But you have probably done more than get kidnapped. You did a few modeling gigs, didn’t you? You have a degree, don’t you? That’s something. More than me.” Louis has no idea why he is trying to make Harry feel better, but here he is, offering reassurance to a man he barely knows and should hate. 

“Yeah, but my family paid the tuition,” Harry responds, his tone sad and detached. He huddles closer to Louis, laying his head on his shoulder for a moment before he sits straight again. Louis kind of wishes he had left it there. He liked the heavy feeling of Harry’s head on his shoulder. He pushes that thought to the side. 

“You still did the courses. You still got the grades. You still did what it took to _earn_ it. It doesn’t matter who paid for it, you still deserve it,” Louis tells him, his tone soft and sincere. He suddenly feels tired, his stomach full and his limbs heavy. The slow cadence of Harry’s voice pulling his eyelids closer to their resting place. 

“Thank you,” Harry mummers, laying his head on Louis’ shoulder again and leaving it there. Louis doesn’t say anything nor does he make any attempt to shrug him off. The moment feels intimate, as if there is a blurry filter on the world around them, making everything soft. Harsh edges smudged out. “I know it’s pathetic that I have to pay my only friend to be around me, but it is what it is I suppose.”

The phrase shocks Louis, because it is one he has been known to say, even going as far as to tattoo it on his chest to be there forever. Harry doesn't know that, though. “If you were a horrible person, Liam wouldn’t stay around. Sure you pay him, but that doesn’t make him any less of a friend to you. There is some reason he applied for and took the job, I’m sure.” 

“Yeah. I suppose. He knew my father though, so I’m not sure how much of it is him staying for me and how much is loyalty to my father. He used to be an assistant for one of the higher ups at my father’s company before he was instructed to be my assistant. I didn’t really need one, but he didn’t give me a choice in the matter. He probably told Liam to try to talk me into working for the company,” Harry tells him, and Louis can feel Harry’s jaw moving on his shoulder with each word. They are slow and methodical. Louis isn’t sure if Harry is tired or if it can be attributed to his normal speech pattern which is also slow. 

“Has he?” Louis asks, filing that bit of information away in his tired brain. He remembers Luke saying that he couldn't find any information on Liam prior to his employment with Harry, so it's interesting to Louis that Harry's father put him in that position. 

“Has he what?”

“Tried to talk you into working for the company?” 

“Oh. No. I don’t suppose he has,” Harry admits, the words quiet and soft. Louis decides not to say anything, allowing the silence to settle over them like a weighted blanket. It’s comforting, in a way, just to have someone there and not be expected to entertain them. When Niall, Ashton and Luke are over, Louis always feels like they have to be doing something whether it’s playing video games or drinking or whatever. The TV is on, but he isn’t sure either of them are watching it anymore. The weight of Harry’s head rests on Louis’ shoulder, but the weight of his words rest on Louis’ heart. 

Louis wakes up with a start, feeling something warm pressed against his body. He bucks into it, his cock hard and throbbing. He knows he was dreaming, but he doesn't exactly remember what it was about. He thinks he was kissing Harry in it, but he can’t be sure. He doesn’t really consider it, his mind too foggy and disoriented to think any better of it. All he knows is that he is very hard and even more turned on. He grinds against what he is assuming is his bed, but the mattress is softer and much warmer than he’s used to. 

“Mm… feels good,” comes a sleep heavy voice from somewhere in front of him. Louis is so disoriented he doesn’t remember what he was doing the night before, but he doesn’t usually bring men home. The voice sounds familiar, but rougher than normal. He doesn't even open his eyes, just continues to grind on whatever is in front of him. It feels too good to even contemplate stopping. 

“Louis,” the voice says again, this time it is clearer, breaking through his conscience like a nail being hammered into a wall. Louis opens his eyes, finding familiar green ones looking over his shoulder at him. Well, the green is almost gone, Louis can see that clearly, even in the dim light. They are dark and desperate, almost pleading, his red lips parted on a moan. Louis knows he should stop. He knows he shouldn’t be doing this, Harry moaning his name only adding fuel to the fire, stoking his hips into movement. 

“Fuck,” Louis mummers, kissing Harry’s neck. He just wants to get off, and Harry feels so fucking good. So good, and he is so tired. His brain isn’t working. He has been so stressed lately, but this, this feels like the cure to all of his problems. Grinding against Harry’s ass. 

“Don’t stop,” Harry tells him, his deep voice breathy. It is then Louis realizes they are laying on his couch, their limbs tangled together, the blanket resting on top of them making Louis feel even hotter. They must have fallen asleep on the couch after their conversation. 

“Won’t. Can’t,” Louis responds, grabbing Harry’s hips and moving them with his own, making the grind that much more delicious. Harry kicks off the blanket, and Louis whimpers when Harry moves away from him, his ass no longer pressed against Louis’ hard length, still encased in his jeans. Harry doesn’t go far, he just turns over so he is facing Louis. The TV is still on, the screen flickering behind Harry, illuminating his dark curls like a halo every few seconds. Louis still feels like he is dreaming, and maybe he is, but he isn’t about to force himself to wake up. 

“Please,” Harry whispers, pressing his hips against Louis’. It is then that Louis realizes Harry is hard, just as hard as him, his thick shaft pressing against his tight pants. He knew Harry was well endowed. Saw as much when nothing but a towel was covering his half hard dick, but he never expected it to feel so good pressed against his own. Fuck. All he can do is moan and nod his head. He begins mouthing Harry’s jaw then down onto his neck. He can feel Harry moan through his teeth that are currently sinking into his throat, so he doesn’t stop. 

“God Harry. Feels so good,” Louis moans as his and Harry’s rhythms begin syncing up, their heart’s beating in time with one another. He feels Harry’s large hand spanning his stomach and his side, snaking its way under his shirt and squeezing hard. Louis doesn’t say anything, enjoying the pressure. Harry’s hands are so big, it feels as though it takes up Louis’ whole torso, but that just makes him hotter. The hand now branded into his skin. He isn’t wearing his rings, but Louis could imagine how hot they would feel on his skin. 

“Lou,” Harry hisses, his hand moving down Louis’ hip to grab his ass, forcing their dicks to grind harder against one another. As the nickname rolls off Harry's lips, coated in molasses and gravel, a wave of pleasure rocks Louis’ system. He didn’t realize someone saying his name could turn him on so much, but here he is, grinding against Harry, moments away from coming in his jeans like a school boy. 

Louis doesn’t say anything, just pushes his own hand under Harry’s shirt, his skin slick with sweat. He locates Harry’s nipple and tweaks it, biting hard on Harrys’ neck enjoying the feeling of Harry’s moan on his tongue. He didn’t know what kind of lover he expected Harry to be, and that’s mostly because he didn’t think he would ever find out. Either way, he didn’t expect him to be so responsive. For some reason, Louis thought that he would be uptight, only liking a few things, and snubbing his nose at the rest. 

“Fucking shit, Harry. Jesus. You’re so hard. Feel so good. Fuck,” Louis groans, pinching Harry’s nipple again. Harry hisses, gripping Louis’ hips so tight, they will probably bruise. It should hurt, but it doesn’t. Louis has been through worse, and this feels far too good to hurt. The only thing that currently hurts is his dick. It’s painfully hard, sheathed in his underwear and jeans, the zipper pressing firmly against the vein on the underside of his shaft. It’s just on the side of uncomfortable, but Louis keeps the pressure, the friction feeling far too good to stop. 

“So close,” Harry wimpers, dropping his head to the arm rest. His other arm is trapped under Louis’ body, and Louis’ arm is trapped under Harry’s head. They are so tangled at this point, Louis isn’t sure their limbs will ever come undone. He doesn’t know if he wants them to. He would gladly stay with Harry in this moment of pleasure forever, but that probably won’t happen because Louis is also hurdling ever closer to his orgasm. 

“Come on, Princess. Come for me. So close. Come with me. Fuck. Please,” Louis begs, the words coming out choppy with his heavy breathing. Their hips are moving faster, not really in sync anymore, both men just chasing their releases. Louis almost kisses Harry, his red lips slick with spit and looking edible, but he refrains. He should probably never kiss Harry again. He shouldn’t be doing what he is currently doing, but he is too far gone to stop. It should stay what it is, though, a way to get off. Kissing is too intimate, too personal. So no. Louis will not kiss him again, ever. It was a slip up during a moment of passion, that is all. This though. This is just a way to get off. A very fucking effective way. 

“Lou. Fu--” If Harry was about to curse, he is cut off by a garbled moan, his hips stilling as his fingers dig into Louis’ ass. Louis bucks twice more, shaking as his orgasm hits his body, knocking it off its axis and rocking him to the core. It feels as though it is never ending, pleasure erupting from every single pore in his body. He just moans into Harry’s neck, the curls tickling his nose as he splays his hand over Harry’s rapidly beating heart, feeling the smattering of chest hair there below his finger tips. 

They are both breathing heavily against one another, slowly coming down from their highs, allowing realization to creep into Louis’ brain. Holy shit. What the fuck was he thinking? What has he done? No. This is. No. He moves away from Harry, carefully getting off the couch. His left arm is tingling, having fallen asleep under Harry’s head. 

He chances a glance at Harry, who’s green eyes are wide, looking just as horrified as Louis. Fuck. This was a big fucking mistake. Louis doesn’t spare another glance or a word to the other man as he goes up to his room to change and wash away the evidence of his misdeeds. He knows it’s crazy, but he almost feels like Simon will be able to see the mistake etched on his skin. As if his own come has branded him in some irrevocable way simply because it was Harry who pulled it from him. Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, kudos and comments are always welcome! They keep us alive. 
> 
> If you have any questions or concerns or just want to talk to me about this fic or any of my fics, you can follow me on social media. 
> 
> Twitter: Wicked_Archer  
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	6. Barton Hallow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry wakes up to a familiar face, and Louis meets someone from his past while on a mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ******WARNING******
> 
> This chapter has mentions or rape/non-con. Please be aware that it does not happen to any of the boys. They walk in on it happening to another character, however the actual act is not taking place. It's just the beginning of it, but they stop it. I know this topic can be triggering to some, so please read with care. It doesn't happen until the end, and it is only a few sentences. If you would like to skim that part, start where it says they hear a scream outside the door. That is all. 
> 
> Please enjoy!
> 
> A quick thank my two betas, Dana and Linda, for reading this fic and putting up with my constant questioning of my sanity. They are amazing friends, and I love them dearly. 
> 
> If you're interested in supporting me as a writer, please look at my [author website](https://lmarcherofficial.com/%20rel=). 
> 
> There is also a [Spotify Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1l6QjjLoOIRPOCgZt8d4YV?si=8kwH6LpvQzik8AfjPVMPIw) that will be updated weekly with the songs represented as chapter titles as well as any other songs I feel fit with the emotions/theme of the chapter.

_Ain't going back to Barton Hollow_   
_Devil gonna follow me e'er I go_   
_Won't do me no good washing in the river_   
_Can't no preacher man save my soul_   
_Did that full moon force my hand?_   
_Or that unmarked hundred grand?_   
_Ooh, underneath the water_   
_Please forgive me father- The Civil Wars_

  
  


“Harry,” a familiar voice breaks into Harry’s subconscious. He immediately recognizes it as Liam’s. He must have overslept and Liam is yelling at him to get up for a meeting. Harry reaches up to rub his eyes, his fingers digging into them, trying to scrape away the tiredness still keeping his body heavy. He slowly starts remembering the last few days. They weren’t a dream. This isn’t his room. Louis. Last night. Wait. Why is Liam here? Is he just imagining that it was Liam’s voice that said his name. 

“Harry. Wake up,” Liam says again, and nope. Definitely Liam’s voice. Harry’ groans, removing his hands from his face to peer at Liam through squinted eyes. The room is bright, too bright, and Harry feels hungover. He has no idea why. He hasn’t had a drop of alcohol, but he felt drunk on Louis last night. He still can’t believe he did that. He got off grinding against a man, coming in his borrowed pants. Louis looked disgusted with himself afterwards, practically running to shut himself in his room. Harry was mortified. So embarrassed with himself and his actions. 

“What are you doing here?” Harry asks when Liam’s face finally comes into focus. His features are soft, scruff grown on his face from not shaving. When Harry finally comes to his senses, realizing it's not a dream and Liam is actually intact and in front of him, he jumps up from the bed and throws his arms around his friend, enveloping him in a tight hug. Liam chuckles, strong arms wrapping around Harry’s back, squeezing. Harry could cry seeing Liam, healthy and right in front of him. He was so worried about him because he knows Liam isn’t an important part of their ransom plan. If Simon found out Liam is just his assistant, he would have him killed as a liability. 

“Niall dropped me off just a few minutes ago. He and Tommo had to do something for Simon. He didn’t say. They told me to stay here with you, the guards outside have been given strict orders to keep an eye on us,” Liam explains, his breath warm in Harry’s hair. 

“Are you okay?” Harry asks next, rearing back to get a good look at his friend. He looks okay. 

“Yeah. Niall is nice enough for a kidnapper, I suppose. Are you?” Liam asks, his forehead creased with worry. 

“Yeah. I’m fine,” Harry responds, and he is, physically. Emotionally and mentally is a different story, completely.

“What’s on your face? And your hand?” Liam asks, pointing to Harry’s hand. Harry is so confused by the question, not sure what it could be. He looks down, finding a smudged cross on his left hand. He hates to know what the teardrop on his face looks like. He didn’t even bother looking in the mirror as he went to bed the night before. He just took off his clothes, wiped the come off his groin and climbed into bed, eventually falling into a fitful sleep. 

“Oh. Lou took me on a field trip yesterday. He had to make me look the part so he gave me some fake tattoos,” Harry explains, looking at Liam again. 

“Lou?”

“Oh. Umm… yeah… Tommo. His name is Louis.” Harry can feel his cheeks heating up with the slip. Liam is smirking, and Harry doesn't know why. He ignores it telling Liam he is going to take a quick shower, then he could make them something to eat. He doesn't know why, but this house has suddenly begun feeling like his home. He shakes his head, trying to dislodge the thought. Captivity is getting to him. It’s the only explanation. He showers, scrubbing the makeup off his face and hand. He changes into some clothes Louis had left for him in the bathroom. He is surprised Louis even bothered. 

“He doesn’t have much to make. I think he has some eggs and bacon. I also thought I saw a loaf of bread in the pantry,” Harry says, walking into the kitchen. Liam is sitting at the counter, watching Harry with curious eyes. Harry goes to the fridge with the intention of opening it, but something catches his eyes. A folded up piece of paper is held to the door of the refrigerator by a magnet that says ‘save a lollipop, suck a dick’. Harry can’t believe he hadn’t noticed that magnet before. The paper says ‘Haz’ written and underlined in a messy scroll. 

“What’s that?” Liam asks. 

“I guess Louis left a note for me,” Harry responds, staring at the paper. 

“But it says Haz,” Liam points out, but Harry is barely paying attention to Liam’s questioning tone, too busy opening the note. 

“Yeah. That’s the street name he gave me yesterday,” Harry explains, butterflies erupting in his stomach with anticipation. He feels a smile bloom over his face, but he doesn’t even bother hiding it. Louis must not hate him that much if he took the time to leave him a note, right? Why does he care if Louis hates him though? Like, he should want Louis to hate him. Last night was obviously a mistake for both of them, but he is still grinning as he reads the words written on the note. 

_ Princess,  _

_ I had something come up. Ni texted me this morning saying he was bringing Liam over because Simon wanted us for a job. The guards have been given special instructions. Knock three times in succession on the back door if you need something. There are several out there to keep an eye on you, so please don’t do anything stupid. I should be home in a few hours.  _

_ Louis xx  _

Harry traces over his name, the butterflies in his stomach making their way into his rib cage, fluttering around his heart. He definitely should not be feeling like this. He should not be falling for Louis, but who can blame him. He is trapped in this house with him. He has been for days. He has been robbed of any other human contact. This has to be doing something to his brain. Rewiring it and confusing him. A small voice in Harry’s head reminds him that he was lacking human contact before. Louis shows him more attention than his family or so called friends ever did. Harry tells that voice to shut up. 

He reads over it again, trepidation filling his gut time, smothering the butterflies. He is probably doing something dangerous. Simon probably has them armed and doing something that could get him killed. What if Louis dies today on a job? Would Harry be upset? He already feels upset just considering it. He should be happy, but Louis is the only one keeping him safe right now. This way of thinking is what is scaring him most. 

“What does it say?” Liam’s question breaks into Harry’s thoughts, shattering his fear. 

“Oh umm, just says he had a job to do and to knock on the door three times if we need anything,” Harry tells him, folding the note back up and shoving it into his pocket. 

“Wait. Did you just say he gave you a street name yesterday? Why?” Liam asks, and Harry didn’t even realize he let that little bit of information slip. Harry then opens the refrigerator, bending down to peer inside. Harry considers lying to Liam, making something up about how he and Louis were playing a game, but Harry is a horrible liar plus it’s morally wrong. He also thinks he already let it slip in the bedroom, but Liam was too busy focusing on Louis’ real name to notice. 

“Umm… he, like- um- took me out yesterday,” Harry answers, trying to make his tone nonchalant, but he can hear the waver in his words. He grabs the carton of eggs and a pack of bacon from the fridge, sitting them on the counter with shaky hands. He avoids Liam’s gaze, but he can feel it boring into his back as he grabs the frying pan from a cabinet. 

“Yeah you mentioned a field trip earlier and having to look the part, but what did you mean by that? Like he let you leave the house with him?” Liam asks, his voice doubtful. 

“Yeah. He put this bracelet on me that had a tracker in it, said if I ran he would be able to find me,” Harry explains, chancing a glance at Liam. His mouth is open in shock at Harry’s story, and Harry supposes it is hard to believe. 

“Did no one recognize you?” Liam asks next, as Harry begins heating up the pan for the bacon. 

“He made me wear a disguise, like I said, to look the part. That’s what was on my hand and face. He gave me fake tattoos. I barely recognized myself after he was finished,” Harry says, shrugging as he finds a loaf of bread in the bread box. They are starting to run low, so maybe he should ask Louis to get some more. They. No. This isn’t their house. It is these slip ups in his mind that are scaring Harry the most. He shakes his head, attempting to dislodge the thought because Liam is speaking again. 

“Did you try to like, get help? Did you tell anyone who you were or anything? That would have been a perfect opportunity!” Liam’s voice is laced with excitement, and Harry’s heart drops to the kitchen floor, his stomach suddenly in knots. 

“I didn’t,” Harry admits, keeping his eyes cast down as he slowly lowers the bacon into the pan, listening as it hisses. He wishes it was turkey bacon or something a bit healthier, but it seems as though Louis is allergic to healthy food if his snack pantry is anything to go by. He remembers last night, eating ice cream with Louis as they watched the show with the models. He hadn’t had actual ice cream in a long time, but it tasted delicious. Perhaps he should allow himself a cheat day once in a while. 

“What? Why not!?” Liam exclaims, and Harry flinches. Good thing his back is turned towards Liam. Harry tries to keep his breathing regular as he wracks his brain for an excuse. 

“I guess I just kind of forgot,” Harry starts, as he flips the bacon with a pair of tongs he found in a drawer. He can feel Liam’s eyes on him, and knows Liam is probably gearing up for an outraged remark, so Harry continues, “I didn’t really have the opportunity because we were doing other stuff. Plus no one would have recognized me, much less believed me. We weren’t even in a part of town where people would know my father’s name.”

“Oh. You could have at least tried,” Liam says, his tone disappointed, and Harry feels horrible. He forgot though. Completely and totally forgot to even try. He was too busy watching Louis conduct business. 

“I know. I’m sorry,” Harry apologizes, laying the bacon on a napkin as he begins to make the eggs. Once he has them in the pan, he places four slices of bread in the toaster, slowly pressing down the lever until it clicks then turning it on. Louis does have a really nice kitchen. Liam starts making coffee while Harry finishes up breakfast, neither of them talking. Right as Liam finishes their coffee, Harry plates everything then takes them over to the kitchen island where Liam is already sitting on a stool.

“What made him decide to let you go out with him?” Liam asks, chewing his food thoughtfully. Harry freezes, but if Liam notices, he isn’t acting like it as he continues, “Niall is nice and all, but he would never let me leave. He, or someone else, keeps watch on me 24/7. It’s crazy that he just let you go out with him.” Harry thinks about the events leading up to Louis’ decision. He thinks about the kiss they shared, his whole body reacting to it as if reliving the moment. The exact location it took place is right in front of him. He can almost see it happening, like some kind of out of body experience. 

“I think I have Stockholm Syndrome,” Harry blurts out, looking over at Liam. The other man’s brown eyes widen as he sputters, choking on the bite that he had just taken. Harry pats him on the back a few times, attempting to dislodge whatever is in his friend’s throat. He really doesn't want to knock three times, but he will if Liam is actually choking. 

“What?” Liam asks, gulping in air and sipping his coffee, wincing when the hot beverage hits his burning throat. 

“Stockholm Syndrome,” Harry repeats the words slowly as he takes another bite of his food. It’s good, if he does say so himself. 

“Harry, that's when a victim falls in love with their captor,” Liam says, the words coming out carefully as if he is trying to get Harry to understand. Harry just nods, swallowing his food. “So are you saying you’re in love with Louis?” 

“What? No. I don’t love him, but like…” Harry trails off, trying to think of the right words to say. “I guess I just kind of, understand him more? I don’t know. I don’t hate him anymore, even though I should. He kidnapped us, but it’s hard for me to hate him, and I don’t know why.” 

“Oh. I’m not seeing how this correlates with him letting you out. This actually sounds like the direct opposite. It usually takes years for victims to develop Stockholm Syndrome. You’ve only been around him a couple of days…” Liam’s sentence trails off, as if he doesn't know what else to say. Harry didn’t know that about Stockholm Syndrome, but Liam has to be wrong. It’s the only thing that could explain how he is feeling. Captivity has to be messing with his brain in some way. Harry swallows, deciding to tell Liam the truth. 

“We kissed,” Harry admits, his voice quiet. He glances over at Liam, who looks shocked again. Harry feels uncomfortable. He has never really talked to anyone about his love life or lack thereof. He wasn’t the type to kiss and tell. To do so is in bad taste, but he needs to talk to someone about it. He feels like he is going crazy trying to keep it all inside. 

“You what?” Liam asks, his voice high and slightly hysterical. 

“That’s what led to him letting me leave the house. We were in a huge argument, screaming at each other, which I know doesn’t sound like me at all, but I swear I don’t know what got into me. I just wasn’t acting like myself. Anyway, we were in a huge argument, and I don’t know how it happened, but we kissed. We kissed then he stormed off, leaving me alone for a few hours. When he came back, he acted like nothing ever happened and told me we were going on a field trip,” Harry explains, recalling events quickly. It’s coming out of his mouth so rapidly, it feels like projectile vomiting. As if his body is clearing the poison he has ingested from the situation. 

“Holy shit, Harry. I mean crap. Sir. I’m sorry, sir. I know you don’t like it when I curse,” Liam says, his voice embarrassed. 

“It’s fine,” Harry responds, waving it away, and a few days ago, it wouldn’t have been fine. He would have reprimanded at Liam for it, but things change. That’s what is making him so uneasy. He doesn't feel like himself. He feels as though he moved the wrong way, and the filter he was seeing the world through, came off. He can’t figure out how to put it back on. He’s not even sure if he wants to. “But there’s more.”

“What?” Liam asks, food now seemingly forgotten. He is looking at Harry as if he has never seen him before, a stranger in front of him. Harry swallows, realizing he very well may be. He certainly doesn’t seem to know himself. He didn’t before all of this. He had no idea who he was or what his purpose was in the world, and he still doesn't. This just adds another layer. It makes him spiral even further into the realization that he still has no idea who he is, and he may die not knowing. 

Harry takes a deep breath, unsure if he can actually say it out loud. Telling Liam about their kiss was difficult enough. He needs to though because it feels as though it is eating him alive. “We kind of… umm… dry humped?” It came out like a question, but it is definitely a fact. He remembers it very well, and it seems that his cock remembers it too since it seems to be reacting in his borrowed sweatpants. Stupid cock. Now it decides to be interested in a guy when he is a criminal. 

“How do you kind of dry hump? How did that even happen?” Liam asks, his expression one of total shock. Harry winces at the questions because it was the very same ones he was asking himself last night then this morning. Harry tries to recall the events that led to it. 

“We came back from our day out, and he got us some ice cream out of the freezer. We sat on the couch eating it and watching some reality show…” Harry’s recounting is cut off by Liam. 

“You ate ice cream  _ and  _ watched reality TV. You’re scaring me, H,” Liam says, eyes wide. To anyone else it may have sounded like a joke, but Harry knows it’s not that at all. He can hear the shock and concern in Liam’s voice. 

“I know. This is what I’m saying. Something is wrong with me, Liam,” Harry responds, voice distraught, on the verge of a whine. 

“Please continue.” 

“Okay. Well we must have fallen asleep at some point. I really don’t remember. I remember being tired and resting my head on his shoulder when he was telling me about how he met Niall. Then I woke up to Louis grinding on me. It felt so good. And I was half asleep. I’m sure he was too, and suddenly we’re humping on the couch,” Harry explains, remembering every detail of the night before. He was groggy. It shouldn’t be seared into his brain, but here he is, getting hard just from the images playing in his head. How hot Louis’ mouth felt on his throat. 

“Holy shit,” Liam interjects, his mouth open again in dismay. 

“We didn’t kiss again, we just grinded against each other. He was talking so dirty, and I was so into it which is strange considering I’m usually not. Then again, I’m not usually into criminals, but here we are,” Harry continues, feeling like he can’t stop. 

“Then what happened?” Liam asks, the question hesitant almost as if he doesn’t want to know, but he has this strange investment in the story. Harry feels the same way except it’s his story, and he can choose whether or not to be invested. 

“Well then we um... we…” Harry pauses, his cheeks heating in embarrassment. He bites his lip, trying again, “We… umm… orgasmed. Like together. Orgasmed together.” Harry feels like he chokes on the word, stuttering it out amongst more rambling. He just could not think of a proper way to say it, so he went with the technical term. Harry couldn’t say that he has never had good sex, but it was usually pretty vanilla. Only having tried a few positions and never making anything close to a dirty comment. This was different, and it wasn’t even sex. 

“You guys came in your pants?” Liam asks his voice only slightly hysterical, and Harry nods his head, not even bothering reprimanding Liam for the harsh language because that was exactly what happened. He is so embarrassed he wants to sink through the floor, but instead he averts his eyes to the very place he wants to disappear to. “I mean… I- Fuck. Shit. Didn’t mean to say that. I- I’m sorry. Harry. I mean Sir. I mean… I-” 

Harry looks up to find Liam’s eyes wide, his mouth open as if he is physically stuck on the word. His expression is so comical Harry bursts out laughing. The whole situation is absurd, and that fact just makes him laugh harder. Liam is looking at him as if he has grown a second head, then he cracks a smile, eventually leading to laughter of his own. “I’m sorry. You should just see the look on your face,” Harry manages to get out wiping his eyes and attempting to breathe. 

“I’m just so shocked,” Liam responds, laughing harder. Harry doesn't even know what they are laughing at anymore, but it feels good. It feels like he hasn’t ever laughed like this, without a purpose. Laughing just to laugh. He has always felt like he had to play the part of a sophisticated person, and he has played that role for so long, he somehow became it. It took over his entire being, and he forgot who he was before. Maybe instead of changing, he is just rediscovering who he is or who he should have been. 

“Do you think I’m crazy?” Harry asks, his expression falling with that thought. His gut still aches with the remainder of the happiness he found for a few moments. He wipes his eyes again, focusing on Liam’s face. His smile has faded, replaced by something contemplative. 

“Do you feel like he has manipulated you in any way?” Liam returns Harry’s question with one of his own. Harry wasn’t expecting it at all, so his mind begins reeling with any plausible answer. Anything he could use to not feel crazy. Or maybe he wants to feel crazy because it’s an explanation as to why he got off with Louis last night. 

“No,” Harry sighs because lying to Liam would accomplish absolutely nothing. “Nothing he’s done has felt manipulative. Like he hasn’t been overly nice or mean then nice. Like we got into that argument, but I don’t think he let me out of the house as a way to get me to forgive him or to manipulate me into liking him. I think he wants me gone just as much as I want to be gone. I just want my life to go back to normal, but I can’t lie to you. Nothing he’s done has felt manipulative. He just seems… not so bad.” 

“Then you have your answer,” Liam responds, taking a drink of his coffee, and Harry freezes. 

___________

“Okay, so... Simon says, don’t you dare laugh again Niall, that this is the place,” Louis starts, eyes on Ashton, but pointing to Niall without even looking at him. He can still hear his chuckle, and Louis just shakes his head. The man always laughs when Louis says the phrase ‘Simon Says’. Louis would think it would be old to him by now, but he digresses. “Simon says, this is the house.”

“I’ll see if I can hack into his security system. That will give us a better idea of whether or not he’s home, where his security is, and where he is located in the house if he is home,” Luke says, grabbing his laptop and opening it, clicking away in a matter of seconds. 

“Wait, he’s supposed to be home, right?” Niall asks, glancing out the window in an inconspicuous way. It’s not like they can see anything. The property is gated and the house is sitting too far away to see from the road. Fucking rich people. 

“Yeah, but he has security,” Louis adds, trying to think of a good plan. Simon gave them little to no information. He just said that this is where Carey lives, and he wanted them to break into the house, kill his guards, and torture him for more information. They didn’t even have a blueprint of the property. Louis was no stranger to climbing walls, but these were very high. Luke could hack into the system and open the gate for them, but the security guard that is stationed there would definitely notice.

“How is babysitting going?” Ashton asks, with a shit eating grin, while they wait for Luke. Louis taps his foot, anxious to get this mission started. He is wearing simple clothes, black stretchy skinny jeans that he can move in, steel toed boots and a simple black turtleneck. He was wearing a green and plaid coat over the sweater, but has removed it since they are out of the cold. He probably won’t put it back on until they return to the van. He runs his fingers through his hair, messing it up a bit which is fine since it doesn’t really matter if his hair is artfully styles or not. 

“Louis you wanna take this one?” Niall replies, smiling in Louis’ direction. Louis doesn’t know what he is on about, allowing it to show on his expression. “C’mon, Lou, don’t wanna tell them ‘bout the note you insisted on leaving for ‘Haz’ this morning?” Niall uses four fingers to quote the nickname, and Louis barely stops himself from punching the other man. He can feel his cheeks heating with embarrassment. 

“A note for Haz?” Ashton asks, his interest peaked, and yes, Louis will murder Niall who is just sitting there cackling. Tonight. While he sleeps. Louis will break into his house and very firmly press a pillow to his face. It will be perfect, the little bastard. Louis could be more creative with his murder plans, but that will have to do for now. He will think of something better later. He is saving all of his creativity for what is about to happen.

“It was nothing. He was asleep when we left, and I wanted to let him know where we went,” Louis explains, shrugging it off and trying to stop his face from flaming in embarrassment. He gulps down his coffee as memories from last night flood his brain. The feeling of Harry’s hard length pressed against his own. He swallows roughly, the coffee burning his throat. He begins coughing, sputtering as Niall pats him on the back. 

“Come off it, Liam was there. We told him what was up, so you didn’t  _ have  _ to leave your boy a note,” Naill points out, and Louis looks up, glaring at him. He doesn't know how effective it is since his eyes are watering from breathing in his coffee instead of drinking it. The fact that Niall bursts out laughing again tells him it’s not very intimidating. Damn it. Louis needs to remember that he is not a coffee fish. He cannot breathe coffee even though he feels like he needs it to live most days. 

“He’s not my boy,” Louis murmurs, hoping that this will be the end of the conversation. Luke needs to hurry the fuck up because he cannot take much more of this. He can still hear the keys on Luke’s laptop, his fingers tapping away, so there goes that hope. 

“Are you fucking him? Louis. Jesus fuck. Simon is gonna be pissed the fuck off if he finds out,” Ashton exclaims, his voice loud in the small space of the van. Louis glances up, finding Ashton’s hazel eyes wide in concern. 

“What? No. I’m not fucking him! He’s not even my type!” Louis defends. It’s true. Harry isn’t really his type, never mind that he seems to be attracted to him. 

“Louis you haven’t dated anyone in years.  _ You  _ don’t even know your type,” Niall points out. This time Louis chooses to punch him in the arm, ignoring Niall’s overly dramatic ‘ouch’. Louis didn’t punch him  _ that  _ hard for fucks sake. 

“I mean, he is pretty cute from what I remember,” Ashton shrugs. 

“Watch it, Irwin,” Luke chimes in, not even looking up from his computer or ceasing his tapping. Ashton grins, patting Luke on the leg, and Louis makes a gagging noise at the exchange. They are so fucking gross, and Louis doesn’t understand why they don’t just say they are dating and call it a day. They have no room to talk about Louis’ sex life or lack there of. They have been on again and off again so much, they could be a stripper’s favorite garment. 

“Yeah. I remember him being pretty, in a very prissy sort of way,” Niall adds, tapping his chin and looking up as if he is trying to remember. Louis rolls his eyes. 

“You’ve got one thing right. He’s very prissy. He’s like the biggest walking contradiction I’ve ever met. He blushes if you say the word ‘dick’, but he has absolutely no modesty when it comes to his body,” Louis tells them, remembering that day in the bathroom when he walked in on Harry while he was wearing nothing but a towel. His dick was half hard, and he didn’t seem to care about his nudity. 

“Wait. What? Have you seen him naked?” Niall exclaims, his voice shrill, and Louis can feel his cheeks heating again. Shit. He slipped up. Fuck. Louis starts shaking his head, a lie forming on his tongue, “Oh my god, you have! Look at your face. Holy shit. You’ve seen him naked!” Niall points at his face while he nods, looking smug, as if he just solved how the pyramids were built or some equally puzzling unsolved mystery of the world. Louis sends a pleading look towards Ashton, but the man just chuckles. 

“No! Shut the fuck up. It wasn’t like that at all. I swear! He had just gotten out of the shower, and I didn’t notice that the water had shut off, so I walked in with some clothes. He was in a towel. He was covered,” Louis explains, the words coming out of his mouth faster than lightning striking a metal rod in an open field. He knows his face is red, it feels as hot as the coffee currently occupying the cup in his hand. It shouldn’t be, though. It was all an accident.  _ But last night was totally not an accident  _ the little voice in his head says, and he tells that bastard to shut the fuck up. 

“Are you growing attached to the princess?” Ashton asks, and hearing the nickname Louis himself uses for Harry coming out Ashton’s mouth grades on his skin. Louis has no idea why. He calls Harry that all the time. He literally called him that last night right before he came in his pants. That was ridiculously hot. Jesus fucking christ. He needs to get himself together before it happens again. His dick is already twitching as he shifts uncomfortably, trying to hide his growing erection. 

“No. He annoys the ever living piss out of me, and don’t call him princess,” Louis adds the second part as an afterthought, even though he has no fucking idea what possesses him to say it. 

“I annoy the ever living piss out of you, and you’re attached to me,” Ashton points out, his smile getting wider. Louis is going to murder him, too. Did they forget he has a gun? A nice, shiny gun that currently has a suppressor attached to the barrel. 

“Debatable.”

“Wait. You told Ash not to call him princess yet that’s what you called him in your note this morning,” Niall exclaims, pointing at Louis accusingly. Louis’ eyes widen in realization. 

“You were looking over my shoulder you nosy fucking cunt nugget!” Louis shouts, allowing the outrage to weave throughout his tone. 

“‘Course I was! What the fuck did ya expect? My specialty is knowing things I shouldn’t,” Niall responds, his eyes alight with joy at Louis’ suffering, “Now please explain why you are allowed to call our dear Mr. Styles princess, but Ash is not.” Niall’s expression is smug, like Joker when he corners Batman except Louis doesn’t have a bat-grapple in his utility belt to zoom the fuck out of there. 

“Fuck. I don’t know,” Louis admits, bowing his head to rub his eyes. He is far too tired for this shit. He barely slept last night. Even though he is usually able to sleep after coming so hard, last night was different. He tossed and turned in his bed, the problems in his head making the sheets far too cold and scratchy on his skin that felt much too raw. 

“Seriously, Lou, You really shouldn’t be getting attached. His parents will pay the ransom soon, then he will be out of your life,” Luke chimes in, looking up from his computer, his worried gaze finding Louis’. The atmosphere in the van sobers, Ashton seemingly shocked by Luke’s words. It’s a harsh reminder for Louis, something that he has been telling himself, but he really needed to hear it from someone else. 

“I know. I know. I’m not. It’s just… complicated,” Louis sighs, looking back down at his coffee, pretending to find the ‘caution’ sign on the lid particularly fascinating as he traces it with his finger. Harry should have come with one of those etched into his skin, the word ‘hot’ with flames and everything. 

“Complicated? How so?” Niall asks, his voice no longer joyful but more contemplative. Louis can’t decide if he is relieved or anxious about this turn of events. 

“He just… I don’t know… I guess I feel sort of sorry for him, and not in the ‘sorry I kidnapped you’ way but in the ‘I’m sorry you’re parents are total shit and your view on the world is so skewed it’s worrisome’ kind of way,” Louis says, each word seemingly punctuated by the tapping from Luke’s keyboard. Louis knows he’s paying attention, though. The man can multitask like no one Louis has ever met. It is probably why Ashton likes him so much. 

“Louis, has something more happened that you’re not telling us about?” Niall asks, his voice cautious. Fucking Niall. He knows him far too well, and Louis wants to hide away. Crawl under the van or something, so Niall’s blue eyes can’t pierce his skin, locating all of his secrets hidden somewhere in the deep recess of his brain. 

“Not really…” Louis starts; both Niall and Ashton give him  _ the look  _ which stops Louis’ lie on his tongue. “We kissed once, and last night, we sort of… got off on each other, but it was nothing. I swear. Nothing. We had just fallen asleep watching something on the couch, and we woke up horny and one thing led to another. It will never happen again.”

“Jesus, Lou,” Niall responds, and Ashton whistles low. Luke even glances in his direction, giving Louis a sympathetic look before his eyes are back on his screen. 

“I know…” Louis starts, but he is cut off by Niall. 

“You can’t let it go any further, Louis. I know we give you shit about getting a boyfriend, but this will just end horribly. He’s your fucking prisoner. We are ransoming him off. If Simon doesn’t figure out a way to keep him quiet once he is gone, then he may even relocate me and you to another city because Harry and Liam can identify us. What the fuck are you thinking?!” Louis feels like he is going to throw up with Niall’s lecture. He knows all of these things. He reminds himself every single fucking day, but it doesn’t stop his body from reacting to Harry. Fuck. He is saved from answering Niall’s questions by Luke. 

“I’m in. Carey is in the master bedroom, located on the second floor in the east wing. He’s in there with a female. Looks like it may be a maid. There are guards outside of the room. Two. Then it looks like there is one in the west wing, second floor, three more roaming downstairs, two outside of the entrance, two more at the back door and one at the gate. I don’t see anyone else in the house. That’s still a lot. You all sure you can handle it?” Luke asks, his voice hesitant as he looks up from his computer. 

“Eleven,” Louis says, mentally counting them in his head. He can almost see them now. “I think we’ve got it. We’ve taken on more. They don’t even know we’re coming. Just keep an eye on our backs from here, tell us if one of them is near us or is somehow alerted to our presence.” 

Luke nods once, and they all place their wireless earpieces in their ears. It’s their main form of communication with each other and with Luke. “Okay guys. You know the drill. We will split up once we take out the guard at the gate. Dismantle all security, but try to be quiet once we are inside the house, especially on the second floor. Let’s all meet at Carey’s bedroom. Luke will be giving us directions from here since he has a better sense of the layout in the house. Got it?” 

“Yes, sir,” Ashton responds, Niall and Luke nodding in agreement. Now his tone is all business, all jest from before gone, replaced by serious professionalism. When they are on a mission like this, they all know Louis is in charge. It is up to Louis to keep them alive and get them in and out, unscathed. He takes a deep breath. His heart is beating madly within his chest in anticipation, but his limbs are steady. They have done missions like this before, however, it has never been someone so high profile. Someone so close to Selley. 

As they quickly exit the vehicle, Louis has a flashback of Harry running towards his retreating car, shouting his name. Louis has been wondering how Harry knew him, the question eating at his subconscious, so maybe he can get an answer. They very quietly make their way to the gate, the man sitting there seems to be reading, his large gut hanging over his belt as he glances down at the morning newspaper. Louis silently tells the others to wait as he sneaks up behind the man, entering the small area through an unlocked door. 

The glock is heavy in Louis’ hand as he raises it, aiming perfectly. He comes down hard, hitting the side of the guard’s necks where he knows the vagus nerve is right under the skin. Without so much as a groan, the man is out cold. Louis signals for the others to join him. They make quick work tying him up, gagging him, and making sure there is no way he can call for help. 

“One,” Louis counts out loud so that Luke can hear them. 

“Okay. The controls are disabled incase he wakes up and somehow manages to make it to the station. I will have the gate open in a few seconds,” Luke says, his voice clear in their earpieces. 

“Status?” Ashton asks, and it’s weird because Louis can hear his voice both in the earpiece and behind him. 

“The other guards seem to be in the same general area. They aren’t alerted. I’ll keep you posted,” Luke says, then a few seconds later the gate creeks open just enough for them to pass through. Luke closes it behind him, not wanting to alert anyone on the street that something is amiss. It’s not like many people would drive by, but they can never be too careful. 

Louis motions for them to split up, telling Ashton and Niall to take the back while Louis heads towards the front. He finds the entrance easily, both guards standing outside, chatting with each other. He assesses the situation, quickly forming a plan. There are tall bushes surrounding the front, so Louis uses them for cover. He pulls out his baton, spinning it in his hands a few times to get the weight of it. He is basically carrying an arsenal, but it doesn’t weigh him down. 

He is light on his feet as he jumps out of the bushes. Both men are surprised. He hits the first one with his baton, knocking him down and out cold. The second one moves to punch him, but Louis dodges it easily. He kicks him in the gut, then chops the back of his neck, bringing the man to his knees. Louis pretends the man’s head is a football as he lines up his shot, envisioning a goal post in front of him. He kicks him hard in the temples, the man falling to the ground a moment later, blood seeping from his ear. 

“Two and three,” Louis counts off, hearing a commotion on the other end of the line. He listens carefully, trying to gauge if the other two need help. 

“Four and five,” Comes Niall’s voice a few minutes later, a bit out of breath. Louis lets out a sigh of relief. Luke is staying quiet, so Louis assumes everything is still the same. “This door is locked. It has some kind of code. I think I can figure it out though.” Louis has no doubt that Niall can get it unlocked. The man has been doing this almost as long as Louis. If he had any desire for a leadership role within the organization, Louis has no doubt he would have gotten one. 

Louis tries the door handle on his side, also finding it locked. It doesn’t have a keypad on it, though. It looks more like a card scanner. Louis looks down at the men he knocked out, noticing one has an ID of some sort pinned to his blazer. Louis grabs it and waves it in front of the handle, hearing a click a few seconds later. He smiles and slowly opens the door, looking around. “I’m in.” 

“Tommo, go down the hallway to your right. There is a guard in that corridor,” Luke instructs, and Louis follows his directions, quietly creeping down the hall, his steel toed boots light on the plush carpet. He locates the guard easily as he paces the hallway. Thankfully his back is turned towards Louis, so it’s easy for him to sneak up and knock the larger man out. Louis tries to avoid killing guards and such, but sometimes it can’t be helped. He grabs his legs, finds the nearest open room, and drags him inside. He’s a heavy fucker. Louis ties him up quickly, then slips back out through the door. 

“Six,” Louis says, following the hallway further down as Luke is giving instructions to the others in his ear. 

“Seven. We will get the last one down here. Tommo, if you wanna head up the stairs, we will meet you there,” Ashton says a moment later. Louis answers in the affirmative, listening as Luke explains where the last guard is down stairs. Louis goes down a few hallways, cursing the maze that this man calls a home. Seriously, how does he not get fucking lost in this hell hole? And what on earth can one man do with all of this space? Louis smells chlorine, so he assumes there is an indoor pool nearby. Typical. He wonders what Harry’s house looks like. Is it this extravagant? Does he have an indoor pool? Does that make Louis think differently of him? 

“Eight,” Ashton says after what Louis can only assume was a bit of a fight. Ashton is a really good fighter though. Louis found him when Ashton was only 16, participating in an underground fighting club. He will never forget watching the skinny young boy beat the shit out of men twice his age and size for cash. His fighting name was ‘Little Drummer Boy’ because his favorite attack was several quick chops all over the body, almost as if he was using his arms as drumsticks and his opponent had the unfortunate luck of being his snare drum. 

Louis finally finds the fucking stairway, climbing up one step at a time, slowly reaching the top. It may as well have been in fucking Mordor. He feels like he had to traspe across Middle Earth to get to it. He is going to start calling himself a fucking Hobbit. He better not tell Niall that or he will call him Frodo for the rest of his existence. He already gets enough shit for being on the shorter side even though Niall is the same fucking height as him. It’s the hair. Louis swears on it. It doesn’t help that Luke is a giant, and Ashton is half giant. 

“Tommo watch out! Behind you,” Luke yells in his ear, but it’s too late. Louis hears a surprised voice shout something that he couldn’t make out. He turns around to see a man reaching into his pocket, probably for his gun. Louis’ body reacts before his brain does as he tackles the man to the floor. He silently prays no one has heard them. The man seems to be trying to reach for his ear, probably going to tap the button so he can speak to the others. Louis has to stop him. 

He straddles the man, punching him in the face, but that doesn’t seem to do anything. His hand is still reaching for the device. Louis grabs it, but the guard is much stronger than him. Louis uses his free hand to reach into a holster on his jeans, pulling out a knife. In an instant, he stabs the knife through the man’s hand, pinning it to the floor below them. The man cries out in pain, but Louis quickly muffles the sound with his other hand. Louis punches him twice in the jaw, knocking him out on the second hit. He pulls the device from his ear, throwing it down the stairway, into Middle Earth for the next Hobbit to find. 

“Ten,” Louis says, out of breath from the recent scuffle. “Did anyone hear me?”

“No. You’re all clear. Sorry for not warning you sooner. Two more. Both are outside the door. Tommo, you’re closer, I think. Carey is still in his room, chatting with his maid,” Luke explains, then begins giving both parties directions to get to the remaining guards. Louis decides to wait just out of sight for Ashton and Niall to be led to him. It doesn’t take long for them to be at his side as they silently communicate a plan. 

Louis and Asthon make their way around the corridor, circling to the other side of the hallway leaving Niall behind. At Louis’ signal, Niall steps out from behind the wall, “Do ya know where a man can take a piss ‘round here? I can’t seem to find a damn bathroom in this labyrinth. I think I did see David Bowie a mile back though, he’s a nice guy,” Niall says so casually, Louis would laugh if Niall wasn’t in danger. 

The guards are so startled by Niall’s voice, it gives Ashton and Louis just enough time to sneak up behind them. Louis uses his baton to knock one out, while Ashton simply twists the other’s neck, breaking it quickly. He makes it look so effortless, Louis is jealous in a morbid sort of way. Louis doesn’t feel bad. He recognizes that one. He is more than just a guard. He’s Carey’s right hand man and has done almost as much bad shit as Carey himself. 

“Now what?” Ashton asks, wiping his hands dramatically. Before Louis has time to answer, there is a scream coming from behind the closed door that the men were guarding. It must be where Carey is, but it wasn’t his scream. It was that of a female, and a chill goes down Louis’ spine. 

“Status?” Louis asks. 

“Get in there,” Is all Luke says, and Louis doesn’t need any more instructions. Louis takes a deep breath, forcefully opening the door, unsure of what he will find on the other side. 

“Please get off me! I don’t want this. Please,” she wails, and Louis looks to find Carey on top of a woman, his dick out as he holds her down on the bed. She is writhing, but he is much bigger than her. Louis can’t see her face, but she has blond hair. Her clothes are ripped, her torn underwear dangling on one of her ankles, jerking every time she tries to kick. 

“Yeah you do, baby. You’ve been givin’ me signs all week. Wearing those short little skirts, bending over for me. I know the signals. You want my dick, and I’m gonna give it to you. I always give the ladies what they want,” Carey says, leaning down to kiss the maid. Louis feels sick, his body frozen by the scene in front of him. She flails, her head accidentally hitting his nose. Before Louis can react, Carey calls her a bitch and punches her in the face. She cries out in pain, and that forces Louis into action. 

“Get the fuck off her,” Louis says, grabbing Carey by the shoulder and pulling him from the helpless girl. He lets out a noise in surprise. Louis pulls his gun, holding it up and Carey freezes. He glances over at the girl, getting ready to ask if she’s okay. His words die on his lips. Her eyes. He knows her eyes. He has only seen them in black and white clippings for the last several years, but he would know her eyes anywhere. They are the same as his own. 

“Lottie?” Louis asks, more bile rising in his throat as his eyes roam over the bruised and beaten body of the girl he barely recognizes. She’s crying, her eye and lip already starting to swell. She also has red marks on her arms and legs where Carey put his grubby hands on her. Her clothes are torn from her body, hanging down as she tries to cover herself. Louis sees red. He lunges for Carey, but Niall grabs him. 

“Let me fucking kill him. That’s Lottie. He was trying to rape my sister,” Louis yells, lunging again at Carey who just smiles sickenly sweet, his dick still out as he holds his arms in the air. Ashton has his gun out now, the barrel trained on Carey. 

“You can’t. We need him, Tommo,” Niall says, holding Louis back firmly, but Louis doesn’t hear him. All the blood in his body has rushed to his ears, and all he can hear is the beating of his own heart. Lottie’s cries make their way through though, but they seem further away than they were before. He rips his eyes away from Carey to see her retreating form as she runs out the door. 

“Fuck. I’ll go after her. Tie this bastard up,” Louis says to Niall and Ashton, worry for his sister calming his rage, for the time being. He runs after her, catching up to her quickly. He grabs her arm, pulling her so that she’s facing him. 

“Louis? Is that you? Oh my god. Louis,” she says, eyes widening in realization, her voice breaking from emotion. The next thing he knows, his sister is in his arms, squeezing him so tightly the air is pushed from his lungs completely. It’s surreal. He never thought he would ever see her again outside of the scattered newspaper clippings he kept in a book that is hidden away in his room. He never thought he would see anyone in his family again after everything that happened, but it’s real. They’ve met in a chance encounter. “What are you doing here?” 

“That’s… um… that’s complicated. Are you okay? Did he hurt you?” Louis asks, pushing her back so he can look at her. She is so different than he remembers. She has grown up so much, and he missed every single step of the way. Who was her first boyfriend? Did he break her heart? When did she start dying her hair? Wearing makeup? What does she like to do? What are her hobbies? Louis knows none of this. He missed it. He could tell you what ten year old Lottie did. She loved braiding hair and my little ponies. She had a crush on the neighbor, but was too shy to speak a word to him. This Lottie is different. He doesn't know her at all. She is a stranger with the face of someone he once knew. 

“I think I’m okay. You came before he could really hurt me. He- he told me if I didn’t stop screaming, he was gonna gag me with his prick. I was so scared, Lou,” she tells him, a single tear rolling down her beautiful face. His heart breaks at the familiar nickname coming from a stranger’s lips. Her voice isn’t even the same. It’s no longer high pitched, on the verge of whiny. It’s mature, much like the features of her face. Louis blinks, shaking his head a few times, trying to get the image of his 10 year old sister out of his mind to focus on the 24 year old sister in front of him now. 

“I know, love. It’s okay. He can’t hurt you anymore,” Louis shushes, wiping her face with his thumb then petting her hair. He feels out of practice with this, with comforting people. When 10 year old Lottie would scrape her knee, Louis knew exactly what to do. He would get her favorite pony bandage and carefully doctor it up. He would kiss the bandage once finished, wipe her tears, then do something to distract her. He doesn’t think any of that would work because he no longer knows her. He doesn't know what comforts her. 

“Is she okay?” Comes Niall's voice from behind them. Louis turns to see him looking between the pair hesitantly. Niall has heard Louis talk about his family quite a bit, so he doesn’t blame Niall for his concern. Louis is just trying not to think about it. That is really what’s best. “Drummer Boy is watching Carey. He’s tied up. Gatekeeper is watching the cams. All the guards are either dead or tied up, but if one of them gets loose he will let us know.” Niall uses their code names to communicate. It’s smart. Lottie doesn’t need to know their real names. 

“Mostly. Watch her. I need to call Uncle Si. He’ll know what to do,” Louis says, pulling his phone out of his pocket. He trusts Niall with Lottie, but he still keeps them in the corner of his eye as he dials the number, walking down the hallway and out of hearing range. He pulls out his earpiece, turning it off as he holds the phone up to his ear. Simon picks up after three rings. 

“What went wrong?” He says by way of greeting, his nasally voice slow and measured. Louis swallows, suddenly feeling nervous. He has no idea how to handle this situation. It’s unprecedented. He really needs to ask Simon though, so he pushes down his anxiety and gets right to it. 

“My sister’s here. Carey was trying to rape her when we went into his room. Guess she was working as a maid for him. She recognized me,” Louis recounts, whispering the last part in hopes that Simon didn’t hear the confession. He knows he heard though. He can tell by the silence on the other end of the line. 

“Well you know what to do, Louis. We don’t leave civilian witnesses,” Simon says after a few moments, and Louis’ heart drops. Louis glances at Lottie, watching as Niall gives her his jacket to cover herself with. He smiles, ducking into the stairway so he is out of site. His gut churns at Simon’s words. Fuck. He feels like he may throw up. All he has in his system is coffee. He needs a cigarette, or he feels like he is going to lose it. 

“What? No. I can’t. She’s my little sister. I haven’t seen her in almost 15 years. She didn’t do anything wrong! She- I can’t,” Louis begs, his voice breaking. He can feel the tears prickling his eyes, as he tries to speak through the lump that has formed in his throat. Simon cannot expect him to do this. He just can’t. This is Louis’ fucking sister. Simon knows what happened between Louis and his family. Lottie was an innocent bystander. Just a little girl. He only just met her again. He can’t. 

“Louis, she’s not your family anymore. They abandoned you, but we took you in. We took care of you. We take care of each other. We’re your family now. You want to keep your family safe, don’t you? It has to be done. She is a liability now. She must be removed in order to keep us safe. I’m trusting you to make the right decision, Louis. Can you do that?” Simon asks, his calm voice a direct contrast to the stairway that is currently spinning in front of Louis’ vision. He can’t breathe. 

“Please don’t make me. P-please! God there has to be a-another way. She won’t say anything. I know it. S-she can hide or something. Please! She’s so young. She’s innocent in this. A fucking bystander who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I can’t-t take her life from her! She has so much more to live for. She didn’t do anything. She doesn't deserve to die, especially at the hands of her brother. Please. I’m begging you, don’t make me do this,” Louis pleads, shaking his head. The tears that are escaping his eyes are flung off onto some unknown expensive surface that will eventually absorb the proof of his sorrow and disbelief. Maybe that surface can take some of it away from him. 

“Louis, you are better than this. I’ve taught you better than this. It’s just one more life that is barely worth living. What is one more life in the grand scheme of things? You may even be doing her a favor. You don’t know what painful way she may die in the future. She is a stranger to you. This is no different than what would have happened with Harry and Liam if they weren’t useful to our cause. We would have killed them for being bystanders. You must protect us and keep us safe. What’s more important to you? The blood of someone you don’t even know or a family that you’ve created out of people who love and trust you to keep them safe?” Simon asks, tone unwavering, but Louis can tell he is looking for a specific answer. Louis’ mind is racing. 

“I can’t, Simon. I just c-can’t. I’m so sorry. I’ve f-failed you, but I can’t. I know you all need me to keep you safe. I know that. I s-swear. You all are my family, but I can’t kill her,” Louis cries, falling to his knees in the stairwell, rocking back and forth trying to cover his sobs so Simon doesn’t hear. He can’t do this. How could Simon even want him to? Simon’s right, though. He doesn't know Lottie anymore than he knows Harry, and he would have killed Harry had Simon asked him to. Fuck. Maybe Louis really is as evil as Harry believes. Maybe Simon is. How could he expect him to do this? How? Louis may actually throw up. 

“I see. Well have Niall or Ashton do it. I understand this is a precarious situation for you, Louis, but I trust that you will do the right thing. You know how important it is to protect the organization and our family. Think of everything I’ve done for you. I loved you when you didn’t have a single other person in your life that cared for you. I know I don’t need to remind you of this, but I want to make sure you understand what a family truly is. You don’t have to be the one to do it. Just see that it’s done,” Simon says, and Louis can hear the finality in his tone. He is not going to change his mind no matter how much Louis begs. Does he even care about Louis at all?

“Yes, sir,” Louis responds after a few moments, sniffling. He tries to quiet his cries, silent tears rolling down his cheeks, soaking into the extravagant plush carpet below him. Something else to soak up his pain, too bad they can’t take it away. He wants to curl into a ball and pretend this never happened. Continue to believe that Simon cares for him at all and justify his actions against innocent people.

“That’s my boy. Now get to work. I expect a report on my desk about your findings tomorrow,” Simon says, and Louis can hear the smile in his tone. He feels sick. He is going to throw up. What’s more bodily fluids on the carpet at this point? Just add it to the sorrow that it’s already absorbed. It’s not enough. Louis is still in so much pain he feels like his body is breaking from the pressure. Something's got to give, and it may just be his sanity. 

“Okay sir,” he manages to get out before he disconnects the call. He crawls over to the wall, resting his back against it as he sobs. All he can picture is Lotties features, the ones that he just became reacquainted with again after so long. Her face morphs into that of the little girl in his memories, but her eyes, the same ones she has now, are dead. They used to sparkle with light as he tickled her until she was gasping for air. The light in her eyes and the breath in her lungs will be gone soon because of him. Louis starts crying again, silence filling the stairwell as he tries to hold it in but fails. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't even a cliffhanger *really* but I feel the need to dodge things. See you next week!
> 
> As always, kudos and comments are always welcome! They keep us alive. 
> 
> If you have any questions or concerns or just want to talk to me about this fic or any of my fics, you can follow me on social media. 
> 
> Twitter: Wicked_Archer  
> Tumblr: Wicked-Archer


	7. So Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After doing his job, Louis comes home to Harry with blood on his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ******WARNING******
> 
> This is where the fic earns it's GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE tag. A very heavy and graphic torture scene is ahead. None of the boys are getting tortured, rather being the torturer. It gets very violent, and will probably make you cringe and question my sanity. If you're squeamish, you may want to skim it. You shouldn't skip it completely because there is some vital information in it. It is necessary to progress the story, plus it is a realistic depiction of what it means to be in a criminal organization is. You will also see a different side to Louis.
> 
> Please enjoy!
> 
> A quick thank my two betas, Dana and Linda, for reading this fic and putting up with my constant questioning of my sanity. This one was hard, even for them, so a huge thank you is in order. They are amazing friends, and I love them dearly. 
> 
> If you're interested in supporting me as a writer, please look at my [author website](https://lmarcherofficial.com/%20rel=). 
> 
> There is also a [Spotify Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1l6QjjLoOIRPOCgZt8d4YV?si=8kwH6LpvQzik8AfjPVMPIw) that will be updated weekly with the songs represented as chapter titles as well as any other songs I feel fit with the emotions/theme of the chapter.

_You're too young to be sad they say_   
_You're too young to be so cold_   
_You're too young to be sad they say_   
_You're too young to be so old- Janet Devlin_

After sitting in the stairwell for a few minutes, Louis is finally able to collect himself. He hasn’t had a breakdown like that since he was a young child, and he doesn't have time for that shit at this current moment. He has weighed all of the options in his head, but the ache in his chest is still present. He checks his appearance using his camera app. His eyes and nose are red, but other than that, he looks fine. It’s clear that he has been crying. He is surprised to note that he hasn’t been in the stairwell that long. He slowly gets off the floor, running his fingers through this hair. 

“What did he say?” Niall asks as soon as Louis is within earshot. He is holding on to Lottie as if he is afraid she will run. She should. Fuck. Louis’ heart feels like it stops beating at Niall’s question. He feels sick all over again as his eyes flood with more tears. He takes a deep breath, blinking back the renewed wetness. Niall looks concerned but doesn't say anything as he waits for Louis’ answer. 

“Get out of here Lottie,” Louis finally sighs. He can’t do it. He cannot follow through with Simon’s order. He would never be able to sleep at night. His heart feels lighter with this decision, as if it is about to float away. If Simon finds out he let her go though, he will kill him. There is no doubt in Louis’ mind, but he would gladly sacrifice his own life, for that of his sister’s. “Hide. Don’t tell anyone you saw us. Lay low. Leave town if you have to. Just don’t come anywhere near here again. Do you understand me?”

“Yes,” she nods, her eyes wide as if she wasn’t expecting Louis to say that. Louis closes his own, flashbacks of their mother surfacing. She looks so much like her it’s painful. His mom has darker hair, from what he remembers, but other than that, the similarities between her and Lottie are startling. Louis looks a lot like her too, but he has learned to deal with the feeling of betrayal everytime he looks in the mirror. He has come to accept it, but this is much more difficult. He was not prepared. 

“Good. Give me your phone,” Louis demands, holding out his hand. She doesn't hesitate, placing the smart device in his hand. He talks as he types, “You haven’t seen me since I was fourteen. Do not forget that. Leave the city as soon as you can. It’s not safe anymore. This is my phone number. One that is safe. Call it if you are ever in trouble. That’s the only reason you are to ever call. It has to be an emergency. A woman named Kiki might answer it. If she does, just tell her who you are, and that you are looking for me. She will get the message to me. Do you understand that?” 

Lottie’s eyes are wide with the influx of information. Louis knows he is talking quickly, his tone lacking any encouragement, but he is running out of time. He is saving her life, but he is also damning her. Unless she leaves the city for good, she will always have to be incognito or she will die, and Louis will die with her. He is gambling with his own life right now, but he cannot kill her. He can’t. “I never forgot you, Lou. I’m so sorry for what he did…” Lottie starts, her bottom lip trembling as her face twists with anguish. Louis cannot handle this right now. They are wasting precious time. 

“Shh. It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay,” Louis comforts as Lottie slams her body against his, hugging him close. He wraps his arms around her, breathing her in. Even though she is wearing Niall’s jacket, she smells so much like their mom, he may start crying again. He doesn’t know if she still lives with their parents or maybe she just uses the same perfume. He holds his breath and closes his eyes, forcing the memories back into the box he keeps tucked away in the dark recesses of his mind. 

“Thank you, Lou. Thank you,” she says, crying into his shoulder. He pets her hair for a few minutes, opening his eyes to find Niall staring at them. Louis can’t quite decide if Niall looks worried or pitying. It may be a combination of both. Louis breaks eye contact, forcing himself to pull back. He grabs Lottie’s shoulders. 

“Go. Now,” Louis orders, and that’s all she needs. She mouths ‘I love you’ to him then she’s gone, running down the stairs. Louis watches her go. She has a large bruise on the back of her thigh, reminding Louis of what he interrupted. Rage prickles his skin again, feeling as though it is singeing the hair on his arms. He can almost smell it burning. He decides to light a cigarette as he walks into the room, Niall following behind. He puts his ear pieces in, telling Luke about Lottie leaving. He also makes a mental note to tell the boys his conversation with Simon. 

Louis takes a moment to feel the rage simmering in his system, allowing it to numb him. Extreme hot and cold are very similar in the way that they can both burn you. He did feel like he was burning, as if acid was running rampant in his veins, the rage pushing it through his bloodstream, but now, Louis just feels cold. He doesn't feel anything except the need to hurt this bastard. At that thought, he allows a sinister smile to spread across his face as he walks into the room, finding Carey tied up on a chair, Ashton standing behind him. He has an item of clothing over his lap, but Louis can clearly tell he is tenting it, his dick still hard beneath it. 

“Well boys looks like Selley can’t get good help these days... even his right hand man is just another shit stain. Limp dick syndrome has him popping pills just to rape the help,” Louis says, his icy tone causing the temperature in the room to drop at least thirteen degrees, cooling his skin even more. Carey just stares at him, bored expression firmly in place with his arms tied behind his back. Louis looks around the room, eyes landing on a bottle. He walks over slowly, his steps deliberate. He picks it up, inspecting the label before walking back to Carey shaking it in his hand. 

“Open his mouth,” Louis instructs, then Ashton places his large hand on Carey’s chin, pushing down. He then clamps his nose shut with his fingers on his other hand. Louis opens the bottle and pours the half blue bottle of tiny blue pills into Carey’s mouth. Ashton forces his mouth closed while Louis massages his throat, forcing the man to swallow the pills in his mouth. Neither Ashton or Niall question why Louis forced Carey to swallow a bunch of Viagra, but he assumes it’s because they can guess his reasoning behind it. 

“So… are we gonna talk like civil gentlemen, or do we have to make this hurt?” Louis asks, bending over to look Carey in the eye. They keep eye contact, but Carey doesn't move to answer. Louis smiles at his silence, a thrill rushing through his system. He was sort of hoping that Carey wouldn’t be forthcoming. He’s angry, and what better person to take it out on than the source of his anger. The little voice in his head reminds him that he is also angry at Simon, but Louis ignores it, focusing on the man in front of him. 

“What were you doing at the docks the other day?” Louis asks, watching Carey’s expression. His eyes narrow, brows creasing for a split second before they raise just the tiniest bit. First anger, then surprise which means he knows exactly what day Louis was referring to. He was just surprised that Louis saw him. Louis’ wouldn’t have if Harry hadn’t run. Harry ran towards Carey though, shouting his name. Louis files that away for later. 

“Bird watching,” Carey responds with a smirk, so Louis punches him, his free hand making contact with his eye. Louis doesn’t feel it though. He doesn't feel the bruises beginning to form on his knuckles. He doesn't feel how they are now scratched from Carey’s orbital bone. He takes a hit from his cigarette, allowing the smoke to fill his lungs. He feels the nicotine flood his system as he blows the smoke in Carey’s face, forcing the man to cough. 

“What were you doing at the docks the other day?” Louis asks again, this time more slowly as he bends to look Carey in the eyes again. His face is so close to Carey’s he can see the outline of his contact lens on his light blue eye. When Carey doesn’t say anything, keeping his small lips firmly closed, Louis glances down to the cigarette in his hand. There isn’t much left of it, Louis having smoked most of it already, but the end is still a smoldering red ember. He grabs Carey’s forehead, holding his eye open as he slowly lowers the lit end of the cigarette closer to it. 

Carey tries to close his eye, but Louis won’t let him, holding it firmly open with his thumb and index finger. He watches the iris as it bobs from left to right then back again, like a tennis ball being lobbed between two players, as if it will save his eye from what Louis is about to do. Louis blows in it, fighting to keep it open because he wants it to be dry as possible. Louis pauses for a second when he is an inch away, giving Carey a chance to speak. He is almost glad that his lips stay firmly shut because Louis is in the mood to hurt him. He smirks as he presses the lit end of the cigarette into his eye. The other man bites back a scream, the smell of burning plastic hitting Louis’ nostrils as the cherry melts the contact lens to his eye. 

Louis pulls back, taking the cigarette with him which now has tiny pieces of plastic melted to the end. The rest of it remains in Carey’s eyes though. He flicks the butt of the cigarette on the floor, any lingering flame long gone, having transferred into Carey’s eye. The other man is breathing heavy, his left eye now half shut as he looks at Louis. He still doesn't answer though, so Louis shakes his head. He grabs a large knife from his belt, spinning it in his hands. He looks down at Carey’s still hard dick with a smirk. Carey looks horrified for a moment, but Louis doesn't care. He wants to scare him, after all. 

Louis holds the handle of the knife tightly as he brings it down, the shiny blade slicing through the air. Carey yelps when it makes contact with his thigh, shattering the bone and tearing the skin and muscle. Louis can tell that he wanted to scream though, but he managed not to. The man is probably no stranger to torture, having taught himself not to react. Louis has to hand it to him because a knife to the thigh hurts like a bitch. Louis was careful not to hit the femoral artery. He wants him to be in pain, but not bleed out. He doesn't want him to die, yet. He glances up to find Niall and Ashton just watching, not even wincing at the scene in front of them. Louis is numb to it as well. Right now, though, he is more angry than anything. 

“I asked you a simple fucking question,” Louis says, his tone bored but somehow rising over Carey’s labored breaths. He releases the knife, leaving it buried deep in the man’s thigh. It will keep blood from the ruptured veins from leaking out, plus it will keep throbbing like a bitch every time he moves. When Carey remains silent, Louis goes to his bag, and pulls out a pair of pliers. He casually hands them to Ashton with a smirk, making sure Carey sees the tool. 

“Why were you there?” Louis questions, watching as Asthon goes to Carey’s right hand, using the pliers to grip the nail on his index finger. The same hand he was using to rip Lottie’s clothes from her body as she begged him to stop. He glances over at the bed and sees Carey on top of Lottie, her face frozen in fear, before it disappears. He shakes his head, trying to dislodge the memory as his eyes find Carey again, who is still tight lipped. Louis smiles, happiness over the man’s tight tongue filling his system. He’s so angry, he is beyond seeing red. He’s no longer shaking, a cool, collective demeanor taking him over. He has surpassed red and gone to blue. So cold, it’s hot, like dry ice burning his skin. 

When he doesn’t answer, Louis nods towards Ashton, a silent command. The other man begins slowly prying off the nail. Louis notices Carey is trying not to scream but his leg with the knife lodge in it has begun to wobble. He probably doesn’t want to give Louis the satisfaction of hearing him scream, but now it’s Louis’ goal to make the bastard squeal like a pig. He wants to fill the room with his screams and dance to them as if they are the soundtrack to his life. It will be the best song ever, in Louis’ opinion because this man deserves it. 

Louis watches in sick satisfaction as the nail slowly peels away from the tip of his finger, blood automatically welling to the surface of his newly exposed skin. He knows it doesn’t make a sound, but in Louis’ head it sounds like a sticker being peeled off a surface, strings of blood and mucus hanging on as if they aren’t already destined to break. Louis blows on the newly exposed skin, making Carey hiss in even more pain. He asks his question two more times, two more nails coming off in the process, but Carey still hasn’t screamed nor offered an answer. 

“Go fuck yourself like I was gonna fuck your sister before you rudely interrupted,” Carey mutters through gritted teeth, probably trying to stop himself from reacting to the pain. Hot anger fills Louis’ system again at his words. Lava is running through his veins, his body reacting before his brain has a chance to process anything. His fist makes contact with Carey’s already damaged eye, the chair falling back on the floor. Carey’s head slams into the carpet with a muted thud. 

“Sit him up,” Louis orders, walking away for a moment to get himself under control. When he turns around, Ashton and Niall have sat Carey’s chair upright. Blood is now trickling down his face, Louis’ knuckles had broken the skin under his eyebrow. Louis looks down at his fist, finding it bruised. He flexes it, testing it out. He doesn't feel any pain from it even though it very well might be broken. Carey is now grinning at Louis, red blood coating his teeth, standing out against the white. Louis silently ridicules himself for allowing Carey to get to him. He knows better. 

“You’re gonna tell us what we wanna know one way or another, so I don’t know why you don’t just make this easier on yourself,” Louis taunts, grabbing the pliers from Ashton’s hands. Louis flinches when bloody saliva is launched at his face, landing on his cheek. Louis keeps his face neutral as he wipes it off. “You’re gonna pay for that you fucking shit tick.” Louis grabs his face, firmly holding his jaw in the palm of his hand, the rough stubble scraping it. Ashton moves to help, placing a firm hand on his forehead while Louis holds his jaw open. 

As Louis gets the pliers closer to Carey’s mouth, the man tries to say something that sounds strangely similar to ‘please don’t’, but Louis can’t be bothered to care. Louis doesn’t even pause this time. He doesn't even give him a chance to say anything because the bastard doesn’t deserve one, and Louis is going to enjoy this. He grabs a hold of the man’s eye tooth with the pliers, starting to pull immediately. He has pulled a tooth out before, and it takes a lot of force and wiggling. After a few seconds, Carey starts screaming, his hot breath hitting Louis’ face like air released from a balloon. Louis smiles at the sound, basking in it. He’s been waiting of this moment ever since he walked in on Carey trying to rape his sister. It’s so sweet it tastes like strawberries and feels like summer despite the cold weather. 

He continues screaming as Louis keeps pulling, wiggling the tooth until it is ripped from his gum, blood gushing out. Louis holds it up to the light, inspecting it like a trophy. It may as well be because it is what got the bastard to scream, and suddenly Louis understands the appeal of a tiger tooth necklace. Louis then goes to his bag, locating the bottle he was looking for. He unscrews the cap, throwing the contents in Carey’s face, getting most of it in his mouth. The man sputters before he starts screaming again, the blue mouthwash burning the wounds inflicted to his face and mouth. 

“Feeling chatty, yet? I know it may be hard to form words since you seem to be missing a tooth. How did it happen, anyway?” Louis asks, faking concern. Carey glares at him, so Louis decides to keep going, a thrill running down his spine. He looks down at Carey’s hand, finding that his ring and pinky fingers are the only ones left with a nail. Louis waves the pliers back and forth over each as he sings-songs, “Eenie meenie miney moe, catch a rapist by the toe. If he screams, don’t let him go. Eenie meenie miney moe.” 

“Guess we’re going for the ring finger,” Louis says, his tone almost gleeful. He holds on to just one handle of the pliers, flipping them open and shut a few times. His hand is bloody from the tooth extraction, warm and sticky on his skin. It feels dirty, but not in the way that he is physically unclean. The blood itself is dirty, like bathing in a puddle of mud instead of a fresh waterfall. The blood on his hand is vile and polluted, any remnants of innocence long gone. It’s the same color as Louis’ own blood, but that in no way makes it human. They are not the same. Blood only means life, not humanity. 

“Fuck,” Carey shouts, as Louis starts to peel off another fingernail, the metallic smell of blood filling Louis’ nostrils, overpowering the minty aroma of the mouthwash that had been scenting the air a moment before. Carey shouts a few more curse words as the skin on his fingernail tears, the air hitting the sensitive skin beneath. Skin that has probably never been exposed to the elements. Louis doesn’t even pause, going to his pinky to repeat the process. Carey’s curse words have now turned into incomprehensible screams, but to Louis, they make the most lovely song. 

“I was trying to spy on you,” Carey finally answers after his pinky nail has been mostly ripped off, hanging by a few threads to the bed. His voice is wrecked from his screams, the words sounding as if they have been put through a meat grinder before coming out of his mouth. He is breathing heavily, beads of sweat gathering on his forehead, some sliding down his face. His skin is pale and his left eye squeezed shut. His dick is still hard though, the Viagra doing its job. Louis smiles at him, as if he is rewarding the man for finally speaking. Just to be a little shit, he keeps eye contact as he rips the nail the rest of the way off. The man hisses in pain, probably thankful that Louis at least decided to make it quick. 

“How did you find our location?” Louis asks after he is done, head tilting to the side. Carey is looking up at him, chest heaving with labored breaths. His black button down shirt is soaked with sweat and mouthwash, tiny dark splotches of his own blood joining the liquid. Carey doesn’t answer, so Louis responds by taking another knife from his kit, using it to slice cuts into Carey’s skin in various places, mostly his arms and chest, careful not to cut too deep or slice any major arteries. When Carey still doesn't answer, Louis grabs some salt from his bag, sprinkling it into the wounds he just made and on top of his already battered nail bed. Carey howls in pain, as Louis uses a finger to grind the salt into the wounds. 

“I didn’t. I swear. Fuck. Stop. I didn’t,” Carey rambles, “I was just scoping out different docks in the city, trying to find yours. I didn’t even know I found it.” Louis squints at him attempting to determine if he’s lying. If he is telling the truth, then Louis feels like he can sigh in relief. It’s important for their operation to stay hidden or else they will have to move. That’s why it was so dangerous when Harry attempted to escape that day. Harry knew their location. It’s also dangerous that Harry and Liam will continue to live, but Louis shoves that thought out of his mind. He’s sure Simon can handle it with blackmail. 

At the thought of his boss, Louis feels sick. Simon’s words are floating in his head like dark clouds threatening a flood, one that Louis isn’t sure he will survive. He can swim, but he is afraid he will drown under Simon’s wrath. Louis made his decision though, a decision he should have never been forced to make. Louis feels betrayed by Simon, the man that has been somewhat of a father figure to him after his own father kicked him out. Simon was right. This was his family, and by letting Lottie go, Louis is putting them all in danger. 

“Are you lying?” Louis asks, walking around the room. He finds a notebook laying on the nightstand, and Louis flips through it casually. He can feel Carey’s eyes on him, well eye since he is down to only one now, and that’s the point. Anticipation is also a torture mechanism. He glances up, and Carey shakes his head in answer to his question. Louis looks back down at the notebook, ripping out a random page. It didn’t look important, just had a doodle of a crudely drawn pair of breasts. Louis slowly walks back to Carey, his next question slow, “Why should I believe you?” 

“I swear, I’m telling you the truth,” Carey babbles, and even if he were, Louis still wants to hurt him. He hurt his sister after all, and there is no telling how many other women were raped in this very room. Louis feels sick thinking about it, his already churning stomach doing a whole backflip. Louis holds the piece of paper up to the light, looking through it for a moment before he flicks the page with his index finger, the sharp sound filling the room. Ashton and Niall look confused, but Louis just smiles at them. 

“Hmm… not sure if I can believe a piece of shit like you,” Louis says, bringing the paper down to Carey’s freshly exposed nail beds. He slides the edge across them, the edge paper slicing the raw skin below, creating a very tiny cut. Louis does it a few more times, listening as Carey hisses in pain. He then blows on the area, knowing how sensitive it is now. Carey screams, trying to get away from the sensation but he has nowhere to go. His arms are tied to the chair. 

“I swear. It’s true. I didn’t realize you were there. I didn’t even see you all. I just saw some man jogging, so I decided to get out of there,” Carey cries, tears now streaming down his cheeks to mix with the sweat and the blood. Louis freezes. A man jogging. He must be talking about Harry. He must not have taken a good look at him before he pulled away. Harry was yelling his name though, then he went on to tell Louis that Carey works for his dad. Louis bites his tongue to keep the questions about Harry from slipping out. 

“What is Selley doing with Des Styles’ company?” Louis asks, not being able to keep the question to himself, no matter how much he bites his tongue. It’s relevant though, and he ignores Ashton and Niall’s confused expressions. They probably didn’t know that Des had any sort of relationship with Selley because they weren’t with Louis when Harry had told him. Louis has been sitting on the information since then, but now seems to be the perfect time to use it. 

Louis watches Carey’s expression intently, his eyes widen for a split second in shock, even the battered left one slightly changing shape. It was barely a fraction of a second, but it was enough. Louis knows he is right. Selley is doing something with Des Styles’ company. Louis wonders if Des even knows the mafia is manipulating him and his company. Some people are actually oblivious. “Who’s Des Styles?” Carey asks, and Louis _knows_ he’s lying. Louis lights another cigarette, pushing his hand through his hair. 

“Don’t fucking play dumb with me,” Louis responds, his voice threatening as he grips Carey’s face firmly. 

“Fuck you,” Carey says, and whatever Selley is doing with Des’ company must be important if Carey has this much fire back in him. He is clearly more scared of Selley than Louis at this moment. Louis digs his finger into an open wound that he had just made earlier, pressing hard. Carey bites back a shout, hissing from the pain. Louis keeps the pressure, maintaining eye contact with Carey, his expression promising more if he doesn’t get an answer. 

“Tell me.” 

“Tell you what?” Carey asks, and Louis is confused for a second. Carey smiles sadistically, his teeth coated in blood as he continues, “Tell you how your sister tasted like honey? Yeah. Fuck her pussy would have felt so good. It’s better when they fight. Since your mom died, she is desperate for money. She begged me for this job, pretty sure she would have put my dick in her mouth then and there if I had asked her. Sexy bitch would have done anything to take care of her little sister. Now that’s a pretty little thing. Thirteen. Perfect age. Young and innocent. A flower I’d love to pluck, if you know what I’m saying. I was planning to invite her to the house next week, show her what a real man is...” 

Louis doesn't hear anything else, all of the blood in his body roaring in his ears, as if a dam burst. His mom is dead? He has a thirteen year old little sister? He feels tears prickle his eyes before they evaporate like rain on a hot pavement when he processes the disgusting things the man is saying. His limbs begin shaking in fury, his heart dropping to his stomach in protest. Louis has never been this angry in his entire fucking life, he wants to rip the bastards head off. Louis bends over, wrapping his hand around the knife in Carey’s thigh. With one quick yank, it's free of the bone it was lodged in. Carey screams in pain, but Louis doesn’t hear it. 

“You want your dick sucked so bad, why don’t you do it yourself,” Louis hisses, then he grabs the blanket covering Carey’s lap. His cock is angry looking, surpassing red and going to blue. It looks swollen and painful, and Louis just smiles as he grabs a hold of the appendage. The knife is so sharp, slicing through the skin and muscles is as easy as cutting a cake. Carey screams, fighting against the bindings in a weak attempt to get away from Louis. It doesn’t work, so he barely moves an inch. Louis would laugh if he was feeling at all tickled. He’s not. He is angry, every cell in his body exploding with rage and the need for revenge.

Since Viagra works by relaxing the vessels in cell walls to increase blood flow, blood sprays everywhere. The red substance is warm and sticky on Louis’ hands, matching the temperature of Carey’s body for a few seconds before it cools, losing the life it once gave. Carey’s scream fills the room, but Louis doesn’t give a single fuck. He is too fucking furious to think about how they need to keep Carey alive. He doesn't give one single fuck about Simon’s wishes. He wants to kill this fucking bastard, to see him bleed out from his dick. He almost laughs maniacally at the thought, pleasure from this sort of justice making him feel giddy. 

Once Carey’s dick and balls are free of his body, Louis shoves it down his throat mid scream. His good eye is wide for a split second, his own dick deep in his throat before it rolls back in his head. His body twitches for the next few minutes then goes limp. Louis knows he’s dead when he sees a wet spot on his nice pants, the smell of excrement filling the room, mixing with blood and piss. Louis’ heart is racing with exhilaration, replacing the rage that was there before. His limbs are still shaking, adrenaline dumping into his system from the thrill.

“Should we clean this up?” Ashton asks after a few seconds, his eyebrows raised in shock. It’s not very often they see Louis lose his cool. They don’t even bother reprimanding him for killing Carey before they were able to get much information out of him. They both know that they would have killed him too for saying that shit. Now that his anger is wearing off, Louis almost feels disappointed in himself for losing his grip and killing the bastard. They were just words, after all. Louis had the upper hand, but just the thought of what he said makes Louis want to rip his throat out even though he’s dead. Louis decides he doesn’t regret it. 

“Let them find him. It will be a message to back the fuck off. Let’s make sure there isn’t anything in here or the office we can use,” Louis instructs, looking around at the room with fresh eyes. He has been so enraged since he got here he really didn’t take a look at his surroundings. Ashton and Niall nod, going to find the office, leaving Louis alone in the room with what used to be Carey. He ransacks the room, trying to push Carey’s last words from his mind. He has another sister, and his mom is dead. The words keep repeating through his mind, though, and he cannot seem to stop them. After a few minutes he locates a safe behind a painting. Typical. 

Louis inspects it, realizing that it’s fingerprint activated. Louis goes to Carey’s body, using a knife to cut off his good thumb. He hopes it will work. It’s not too swollen or stiff given that he just died a few minutes ago. He presses the digit to the high tech scanner on the safe, hearing an audible click a moment later. He opens it, finding a least fifty thousand dollars in unmarked bills along with some papers that look important. Louis cleans his hands as best as he can on the expensive comforter then puts all of the money in the backpack he has with him, zipping it up as Ashton and Niall come back, telling Louis that they also found some papers that may be important. 

“Okay. Here are a few more,” Louis says, handing the stack of papers he found in the safe along with Carey’s phone. It may be useful, and Luke will probably be able to break into it, no problem. “Will you all take them to Simon? Tell him that Carey accidentally died while we were questioning him, a heart attack from shock or whatever. Hopefully the papers will be enough to suffice, and Simon won’t be too pissed. Also, if he asks, tell him that one of you killed Lottie. I found some cash. I’m gonna go home and get cleaned up then make a run.” 

___________

“I think I hear Louis’ car,” Harry says, his ears perking up at the noise. It’s definitely Louis' car, and Harry would be lying if he said he hadn't been on high alert listening for it over the past few hours. He and Liam have spent the day just talking. He didn’t realize how little he actually knew about the man. He feels bad because he has never bothered to ask Liam about his past even though he had considered him a friend. Harry is learning that he may have to redefine that word, and Louis may or may not have something to do with that. 

“I definitely hear something,” Liam agrees, looking in the direction of the back door. A few minutes later, Louis comes walking in. Harry lets out a surprised gasp at his appearance. The man is covered in what could only be blood. Dark red and drying on his skin and clothes. He quickly scans Louis’ body, looking for any potential injuries, but Harry sees none. Harry doesn’t think he’s hurt. He’s not limping or leaning on Niall, but worry still knots Harry’s gut. 

“What happened? Are you okay? Is someone hurt? Why aren’t you in the hospital?” Harry fires off the questions rapidly, his brain trying to process the image in front of him. He looks to find Niall standing behind him. Unlike Louis, Niall’s clothes remain spotless, but his eyes look tired, as if he has had a long day. His mouth is open as he looks at Louis, seemingly unsure of how to answer Harry. The two men exchange glances before Louis sighs. 

“We’re fine,” Is all he says, and Harry’s brows crease together in confusion. If it isn’t their blood, then who’s blood is it? He looks at Louis again, scrutinizing his appearance this time, the worry evaporating, turning into something else entirely. When the realization hits him, it sends the room spinning, his stomach churning with it. He is going to be sick. 

“Did you kill someone?” Harry asks, swallowing the bile that is rising in his throat. He doesn't even need confirmation because he knows it to be true. That’s the only plausible explanation if the blood didn’t come from any of Louis’ group. Louis killed someone, and now he is standing in front of Harry, just like he had been last night. Harry knows that Louis has probably killed someone in the past, but this makes it feel all too real. Forgiving him for his past is one thing, but pretending the present isn’t real is entirely different. 

“Liam, I think it’s time we get going. C’mon,” Niall interrupts, his voice hesitant, as if his parents are arguing in front of him. Harry doesn't take his eyes from Louis, as Liam slips past him, the door clicking shut a few moments later leaving them alone in the middle of a stare off. 

“Did you kill someone?” Harry asks again, his tone firm and unwavering. Louis’ body language doesn’t change at all really. He doesn't stiffen at the question. He doesn't gasp and deny the accusation. He doesn't physically respond in any way that Harry was expecting. Nothing. He just looks up at Harry with wide blue eyes, blinking every few minutes. Harry suddenly feels disgusted with himself for ever thinking that Louis was anything other than a cold hearted criminal. How could Harry pity him when he killed someone in cold blood then came home with it still drying on his clothes and skin? 

“Not now, Harry. I’m tired, and I have somewhere to be,” Louis finally responds, his voice wavering as if drained, like a car running out of gas slowly. Louis doesn’t say anything else, turning to walk up the stairs. For a split second, Harry almost lets him go. It would be easier. He could let him go, and not demand an explanation. He doesn't need one, after all. It won’t change the fact that Louis murdered someone. Taking a life is wrong, no matter what. Letting Louis go up the stairs and never speaking to him again would be smart, but Harry’s heart is pulling towards Louis as he leaves. 

“Wait. You can’t just walk away from this conversation, Louis. You have to answer my question,” Harry objects, following along behind Louis up the stairs, the smell of iron filling his nostrils. He feels sick all over again. Harry isn’t sure that he has ever seen blood that was not his own. Even exposure to his own blood has been minimal, the metallic scent of the substance never having entered his nostrils. 

“Yes, I can. I don’t owe you anything,” Louis says, opening the door to his room and walking in. Harry pauses for a split second, having never been in Louis’ room. He feels like he would be invading his privacy if he steps foot in there, but Louis has invaded Harry’s privacy by kidnapping him. Harry takes a deep breath and follows him into the room. Louis turns toward him, eyes slanted, as he props the back pack he was carrying against the night stand. “Can you please leave, so I can get cleaned up? I have somewhere to be.” 

“No, I’m not leaving until I get answers,” Harry insists, finally taking his eyes off Louis allowing them to wander around the room he has been so curious about since he arrived at the house. It is clean, like the rest of the house, with the same beachwood theme. The bed has a white and blue duvet on it, and looks like it would be soft to the touch, warm on cold nights. Beside the bed is a built-in bookshelf, lined with books on physiology and leadership. Harry isa bit shocked by the titles, having read a few himself. 

“Fine. I don’t care,” Louis concedes with a defeated sigh, and Harry almost feels sorry for him. It seems as though the man had a very long day, given his appearance. He has dark circles around his blood shot eyes, as if he spent the day rubbing them or maybe even crying. His hair is a tangled mess, his already dark clothes covered in blood, whatever jacket he was wearing long gone. He just looks beaten, and curiosity pulls at Harry's brain as he wonders what had occurred today. Louis isn’t always pleasant, but his mood just feels off to Harry. The energy he is radiating feels cold and distant, which is weird because Louis normally fills the room with light. 

Harry can’t bear to look at him because his fingers are itching to grab Louis and hug him, to comfort him in some way. He can’t though. He wants to hold on to his disgust and anger because whoever he hurt deserves that, don’t they? He should feel remorse and sadness for a life lost today, but Harry doesn’t. When he turns again, he finds that Louis has disappeared. He looks around, seeing what can only be a bathroom, so he walks in there, finding Louis at the sink, his eyes cast down. Louis hadn’t answered his previous question, so maybe he didn’t kill anyone. He could have saved someone, and Harry is jumping to conclusions, so that’s why Harry decides to change his question. “Who’s blood is on your hands, Louis?”

“Why does it matter, Harry?” Louis answers his question with one of his own. Harry doesn't know why, but the response shocks him, his mouth opening and closing a few times, trying to decide if it has any words or not. Harry should be mad. He should be furious and disgusted, and he doesn't know why he has followed Louis into the bathroom as the other man avoids his questions. Maybe it’s because Louis’ body is subtly shaking. Or the fact that Louis can’t seem to look in the mirror. It may be the haunted look in Louis’ blue eyes, making them appear more gray as if the spirit of his past is dancing in their pools changing their color. 

“I just…” Harry pauses, trying to get his thoughts in order. It doesn’t help that Louis has begun undressing, lean muscle stretched over what seems to be permanently sun-kissed skin. It’s the middle of winter, but his skin seems to have absorbed all of the radiance the sun has had to offer and stored it within his pores. When he turns, he reveals more tattoos and scars. Harry’s eyes follow the script across his collar bones, reading the words. Art. Louis’ half naked body is art, and Harry doesn't know what to do with this information. He shakes his head, focusing his thoughts on the current conversation. “I need to know, Lou. Please. Who’s blood is that? Did you kill someone?” 

“Why do you need to know? So you can tell me how horrible of a person I am? So you can belittle me for the life I lead? Maybe you want to lecture me on morals and explain why you are the epitome of moral standards while I could never be anything but a terrible person that deserves all of the horrible things done to me? Hmm? Is that it? Is that what you want?” Louis asks, throwing his shirt in the large tub, followed by his pants, and Harry feels like he was slapped in the face. He has no idea why though because that is exactly what Harry would do or say depending on Louis’ answer. Suddenly Harry feels angry. Why does he always let Louis do this? No. Louis hurt someone, and Harry shouldn’t feel _sorry_ for him. 

“Yes. Exactly because if you killed someone, it’s wrong. It’s disgusting. How can you live with yourself? No wonder you can’t even look yourself in the eye. You know you were wrong. You took a life Louis. Probably just hours ago, then you come home covered in blood and try to make me feel like-- like sh…” Harry pauses, not believing the word that almost left his mouth. He blames Louis for this. He continues, “Like crap for being upset about it. For asking you who’s blood it is because I’m sure they deserved more than you gave them. A name. A face. They probably had a family. They probably have people that will miss them, yet you took that away from them and why? Probably because you were told to.” Harry is breathing heavily after his rant, but it feels good. 

“Fuck you, Harry. You don’t know shit about the man that I killed today,” Louis spits out viciously, turning on the faucet. The water is so hot, steam is coming from the jet, but when Louis places his hands under the stream, he doesn't even wince. Harry can’t believe Louis just admitted to killing someone today while he nonchalantly begins washing the blood from his hands as he continues to speak, “I know everything looks black and white from the top of that high fucking horse you’re always on. If you would come off it, then maybe, just maybe, you would see the world for what it is. If you’d care to look closer, you would see that most of what you consider black and white is actually a shade of gray that you refuse to acknowledge the existence of.” 

“There is good and evil, Louis. Everything falls into one category or the other. Killing someone is evil, no matter what you say,” Harry returns, crossing his arms over his chest. He watches Louis scrub his hands so hard, they are red, almost raw, and Harry’s eyes fixate on the red tinted water as it circles the drain, just like the life Louis has taken today. Wiped from the world so quickly by something just as simple. Something as easy as soap, water, and the good scrub it takes to remove it. Even though Harry has no idea how he died, his life was still taken in the span of a few minutes probably. Less time than it takes for Louis to wash the remnants of that life from his skin. 

“Whatever. I’m tired of having this fucking conversation with you,” Louis says, drying his hands and pushing past Harry, out into the bedroom. When Louis’ bare skin touches Harry’s, it’s warm and inviting. For some reason, Harry thought it would be cold like his demeanor has been about this. Harry follows him out, watching as Louis begins to dress.

“I cannot force you off your fucking pedestal, and I’m far too exhausted to try,” Louis continues, his voice tired again. Harry should feel like he won, but he doesn’t. He still has a strange desire to hug Louis because in this moment, he looks beaten, much older than his 28 years. “Like I said, I’ve got better fucking things to do. Think what you want of me, I don’t care. Some lives aren’t worth saving, Harry. Some people deserve death, and one day you will realize it. I hope one day you are put into a situation where you have to protect someone you love, and your only choice is to kill. I want to watch you eat your fucking words, and I know they will be as bitter as they sound coming from your mouth right now. I hope it fucking rocks your world because you are nothing more than an entitled, self absorbed, little brat.” 

Harry gapes at him, unsure of how to respond or to even process what Louis just said. Gone is any sort of desire to comfort the man in front of him. The monster. He is somewhere between infuriated and offended. Harry’s body is shaking, his limbs filled with rage. He just wants to choke the asshole with his assumptions. Harry would never, ever take a life, unlike Louis. He is better than that. No matter the circumstances. That is just not a possibility to him. He tries to imagine a scenario where he would kill someone, but there are always alternatives, right? There has to be. Killing isn’t the only answer. 

He watches Louis grab the backpack, then bends down in front of the night stand running his now clean fingers along to pop it open. There must be a secret latch, but Harry would never have known. It just looks like a normal nightstand. Harry can’t see exactly what he is doing, so he steps to the left to peer over his shoulder. His eyes widen when he sees that Louis has stacks of money inside. Louis opens the backpack, revealing even more, and Harry is outraged. 

“Did you seriously kill that man for money, today? Oh my god. Is that how you pay for this? You kill people, take their money and use it to line your own pockets. He probably worked hard for that money, and what did you do for it? Kill him then have the inconvenience of washing the blood from your hands? You disgust me. I can’t believe that I- Oh my god. What we did last night. I can’t believe I let you touch me.” Harry swallows, trying to keep the vomit from completing it’s entrance into the world. He feels as though he is going to cry. His breaths are coming out in short quick, huffs, panic rising in his system, presenting itselfin the form of shaking limbs and uneven breaths. 

“Harry calm down. It’s not what you think. I swear. It’s not. Please don’t have a panic attack on me. Deep breaths,” Louis instructs, his voice gentle as it breaks through Harry’s haze. His vision clears enough to see Louis' face, his expression worried. Harry tries to even out his breathing, feeling Louis' small hand on his chest, while he talks to him in a soothing tone. Harry can’t tell what he is saying, though. All Harry can think about is the fact that the hand over his heart is the very same one that forced another to stop beating only hours prior, and Harry allowed that hand to touch his body. Allowed it to pleasure him last night, and he would be tempted to do it again because it’s the best he has felt in far too long. 

“How could it possibly be not what I think, Louis? You come home with blood on your hands and a backpack full of money, then you admit to killing a man, and now you’re putting money in your safe!” Harry says between labored breaths, more panic coming to the surface. He feels like it’s about to boil over, and he doesn’t know what to do. Is this what a panic attack feels like? He has never had one before, but he thinks he may be dying. His chest hurts, and he can’t seem to get enough air. He wants to curl into a ball and hide. 

“Look, I know you hate me and don’t trust me which is fine because I’ve never given you a reason to, but I’m not lying. It’s not what you think. I was taking money out of my safe, not putting this money in it,” Louis explains, and Harry tries to focus. He was removing money from his safe to put with the money in the backpack? Why would he do that if he was just going to keep it to buy things? Was he taking it to his bank? That wouldn’t make much sense because a deposit that large is bound to raise suspicion.

“What are you doing with the money then?” Harry asks, his breathing starting to become more regular and his heart rate slowing down. He looks at Louis, silently begging him to tell the truth. Harry doesn’t know how much more of this he can take. He hates himself for allowing Louis to touch him, knowing his past, but at the same time he yearns for it to happen again. His body feels like it is being ripped to pieces, and he’s not even sure what the correct destination is to follow. 

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me,” Harry responds, eyes narrowed. 

“Fine. It will be easier if I showed you. Get dressed and come with me. We are going on another field trip,” Louis says after a few minutes, seemingly in deep thought. Harry doesn't question him, he just turns on his heel to walk out of the room, going to the guest room to change as Louis had instructed. He has no idea where they are going, but he doesn't think anything will convince him that Louis didn’t do anything wrong. He still feels angry and disgusted with himself. He shouldn’t even agree, but here he is, changing into more of Louis clothes, going to follow a criminal into oblivion for the second time in 24 hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you make it through? Do you need anything? Water? A hug? A blanket? 
> 
> Please don't throw anything about me... you'll like where this is going.... maybe?


	8. Stronger Than Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry finally gets some answers about Louis' past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really have much to say on this one. It isn't particularly violent, but I guess it can be sort of triggering? But not really? Anyways, I hope you enjoy! 
> 
> A quick thank my two betas, Dana and Linda, for reading this fic and putting up with my constant questioning of my sanity. This one was hard, even for them, so a huge thank you is in order. They are amazing friends, and I love them dearly. 
> 
> If you're interested in supporting me as a writer, please look at my [author website](https://lmarcherofficial.com/%20rel=). 
> 
> There is also a [Spotify Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1l6QjjLoOIRPOCgZt8d4YV?si=8kwH6LpvQzik8AfjPVMPIw) that will be updated weekly with the songs represented as chapter titles as well as any other songs I feel fit with the emotions/theme of the chapter.

_And I dream of the beauty to be free from the doubt_  
_Everyone's trying to find what they can't live without_  
_The science of losing and the pressure it brings_  
_But I'm learning that sometimes time doesn't heal a thing_  
_And I will carry this weight 'til I die_  
_This body's a bag that collects every hour as it passes by_  
_And I'll always try no matter how hard these things might get_  
_As long as I wake up, I'm already stronger than dead- Amigo the Devil_

“Where are we?” Harry asks, looking around at the street they’re parked on, as he fiddles with his tracking bracelet in nervous anticipation. It’s the afternoon, the sun bright in the sky but providing very little warmth. Louis doesn't answer, just gets out of the car, and Harry has no choice but to follow suit, his curiosity getting the better of him. He shivers when his body meets the cold air outside, the wind cutting through him. It’s one of those days that seems to get colder as the hours pass by. He holds his borrowed coat tighter around him, hunching over to protect himself from the elements. 

He looks around while he walks, not recognizing the street they are on. It’s definitely a more impoverished part of town; the buildings around are run down with improper care. People are leaning against them, attempting to shield themselves from the cold, their hands dirty and their clothes ragged. A pang of sympathy shoots through Harry’s chest because they must be freezing, but he still doesn't understand why Louis brought him here and what this has to do with their former argument. 

He follows Louis inside a large building, the hinges on the door creaking as Louis forces it open. The first thing Harry notices is the smell. The only way Harry can describe it is rotting meat coated with a layer of dust. He tries to not cringe at the aroma, but it’s difficult not to since Harry isn’t used to it. He glances at Louis, finding him unfazed as they go the rest of the way inside. They turn a corner, and Harry’s eyebrows reach his hairline. They are in a large room, bunk beds lined up with young people lounging about. 

Harry looks around, taking in the appearances of the occupants. They all look young, really young, probably teenagers. Some may be even younger. Harry tries to keep his eyes trained on the back of Louis’ head, but it’s hard to ignore the stench or the startling appearances of some of the young faces surrounding him. Some have matted hair. Some have open sores on their face and neck. Some have holes in their clothes or shoes. Others aren’t even wearing shoes. The chatter immediately quietens as Harry walks through. Harry feels embarrassed for some reason, all eyes on him. They aren’t giving Louis the same looks, as if they know him. 

“Lou! What are you doing here?” A voice says, and Harry looks in the direction it came from. A woman is walking up to Louis, wearing a kind smile. She has a deep complexion, smooth and flawless with dark hair pulled into a ponytail. She also has a deep voice, and Harry wonders if she is transitioning or has transitioned. Harry doesn't want to ask though because it would be rude. She’s older, probably closer to Harry’s mom’s age. She is wearing a shirt that says ‘Homeless Not Hopeless’ and oh. It is then that Harry realizes that they are in a homeless shelter. It all adds up, and Harry silently kicks himself for not figuring it out sooner. Why are they acting as if they know Louis though. She addressed him with a nickname, so she must know Louis. 

“Oh you know, the usual,” Louis responds, a large smile lighting up his face. Harry suddenly feels jealous. He doesn’t get to see Louis smile like that very often, but he easily did it for this woman. She’s taller than him, so he has to get on his tiptoes to reach her for a hug, and Harry can’t help but wonder if Louis would get on his tiptoes to hug Harry. He is a bit taller than Louis, afterall. It is then that Harry decides if he ever hugs Louis, he will bend down because Louis’ tiptoes don’t deserve that kind of punishment. What is he even thinking? He doesn't want to hug Louis. He is still mad at him. Harry really needs to keep his brain in check. 

“Oh. The usual, huh? Okay. Well you know the drill, let's go to my office,” She says, her eyes darting in the direction she came from. Louis smiles at her, but as soon as her eyes leave his face, he frowns again. Like he is giving Harry glimpses of the haunted man that came home with blood on his hands. Given the way Louis is acting with this woman, you would never know the state he was not that long ago. Harry can still see that man between heartbeats, out of the corner of his eye when Louis thinks no one will notice. 

“Oh. I also brought a friend. This is Haz. Haz this is Kiki. Don’t worry, he’s safe and trustworthy. He’s gay as well,” Louis says, his hand gesturing towards Harry, and that is odd. Why would Louis feel the need to point out Harry’s sexuality, as if it's an important detail? Harry tries not to let his heart flutter at Louis saying he’s trustworthy, but it does. This place obviously holds some importance to Louis, and Harry feels as though he is getting a glimpse into Louis’ mind, his past. 

“Good afternoon, madame. I actually prefer not to label myself, but yes, I promise I’m safe. I would never hurt anyone here, or anyone period,” Harry assures, offering his hand to shake. She looks him over not once, but twice, and Harry barely resists the urge to squirm. For some reason it feels as though he is meeting Louis’ parents.. Harry almost withdraws his hand in embarrassment before hers is in his, shaking it firmly. 

“Well Haz, I haven’t seen you here before, so I’m assuming you’re not homeless, and you look a little too old to be in the ‘youth’ category. What are your pronouns?” She asks with a smile, and Harry instantly relaxes. He is surprised by the question. He wishes it was asked more often, but most people are afraid they are being rude. He also didn’t miss her words. Are they in a homeless shelter for gay youth? That explains how young some of these occupants look, but that doesn’t keep him from being shocked by the situation. 

“He and him are fine,” he answers quickly as they begin to follow her. He can’t stop his curious eyes from looking around the room again, armed with new knowledge about the establishment. He couldn’t imagine what it would feel like to be homeless, but adding gay into the mixture just sounds terrifying. Harry himself hasn’t always felt safe with his sexuality, and he has never been in an even remotely sketchy situation until recently. They must feel so alone in the world, cast out with no one to care about them. Not to mention being afraid every single day of being taken advantage of because of their sexuality or worse, killed. Harry blinks a few times, attempting to hold back tears. 

“Sorry I mislabeled you,” Louis whispers, breaking through Harry’s subconscious as they walk behind Kiki. Harry is confused for a split second before he remembers. 

“It’s okay. I wasn’t trying to be a dick or anything. I know most people don’t really recognize people who don’t label themselves, but yeah. I just never really found one that fit,” Harry replies, his voice also low. It was very sweet of Louis to apologize, though. Most people don’t. Back when he had friends, they would purposefully call him gay even though he had told them all a dozen times he doens’t like labels. 

“That makes complete sense. You are valid regardless of what anyone says. I really am sorry for assuming, and I promise it won't happen again. I identify as gay, by the way,” Louis confesses, and Harry thinks he may be blushing. Harry smiles at him, and Louis returns it with one of his own. The most genuine smile Louis has ever given him when he wasn’t laughing at something Harry had said. This smile feels like it’s just for him, and Harry wishes he could put it in his pocket and keep it forever. It warms him down to his bones, and Harry decides the earth needs a bit more warmth right now. Maybe they should put a smiling Louis up in the sky in place of the sun. 

“Have a seat boys,” Kiki instructs, ushering them into a very small office. The desk is overflowing with papers, the wall covered with pictures of teenagers that have probably come and gone. Harry inspects a few of them, wondering where they are now. Do they have homes? Are they in another shelter? Are they even alive? He finds one that has two very familiar faces; he thinks it may be Louis and Niall. Louis has his arm slung around Niall’s shoulders, smiling up at the camera. Niall has bright blond hair, dark roots showing. Harry wants to get closer, but he can’t without seeming like he is being nosy since it is behind the desk. It suddenly dawns on Harry that this must be the shelter where Louis met Niall. 

“I’m here to make a donation,” Louis says with a smile, handing the backpack over to Kiki across the desk. “There should be around 50gs give or take. I would have come sooner, but I’ve been busy with other things.” Louis glances over at Harry for a split second before he is smiling again at Kiki. Harry tries not to react to the amount of money Louis had in that bag. Kiki doesn’t look surprised at all, just takes the backpack and places it somewhere behind her desk. 

“I’m so glad you came. We were starting to run low on funds. Some of our grants have ended, and we weren’t able to get them renewed. I don’t know what I would do without your constant donations. This place probably would have shut down by now if it wasn’t for you. I’d hate to see where that would leave these kids. They aren’t safe on the streets, especially with this weather. Thank you so much, Louis. I wish there was a way I could repay you,” she says, her dark eyes beginning to water with emotion. 

“Kiks, you know that you don’t have to thank me. This is my way of repaying you for everything you’ve done for me over the years. It’s the least I can do. You know I’d do anything in my power to help you keep a roof over these kids’ heads and keep them fed,” Louis responds, his head bowing as his cheeks flush. Louis very clearly doesn’t like praise. It seems to make him uncomfortable. He looks human in this moment, smiling and blushing like a young boy whose mother just complimented him. He looks young again, and it hurts Harry’s chest. He is so confused by Louis. 

Harry gets lost in his thoughts as Kiki and Louis talk for a few more minutes, discussing the shelter and finances. Louis seems to have a bigger role than Harry had initially thought, but that still doesn’t explain everything to Harry. How did Louis get involved? Why does he treat Kiki like a mom instead of a business partner? If this is the shelter Louis had spoken of last night, then perhaps he sees Kiki as a mother figure. That still doesn't explain how Louis ended up here, though. Harry’s head feels like it is spinning with questions, and if he doesn't get answers soon, he may be lost forever, spiraling into oblivion. He tries to not forget why he was angry, but it’s so difficult when Louis is being so… human. 

“Well, Kiki, I’m starving, so we’re gonna get going. It was great catching up. I trust you know what to do with the cash,” Louis says, standing up from his seat. Harry’s head snaps to attention, the wooden legs of the chair scraping loudly across the concrete floor. Harry follows him, standing up awkwardly. He has barely said two words since he came here, but he doesn't know what  _ to  _ say. He has gone through the entire register of emotions today, and he has somehow ended up somewhere between confused and overwhelmed. 

“Okay. Don’t be a stranger, babe, and yes, I know what to do with the money. I’m well versed in this. You’ve been doing it long enough, and you’ve taught me well,” she assures, a smile on her face. She walks around the desk with her arms open wide towards Louis. Louis smiles and accepts the hug, getting on his tiptoes again and gripping her tight, his face squished between her neck and her shoulder. It suddenly dawns on Harry that this is a normal occurrence. Louis often comes to make a ‘donation’, and Harry isn’t sure what to do with this information. 

“I won’t,” Louis responds, breaking the hug. 

“It was nice meeting you, Haz. Take care of this one. Okay?” She says, dark eyes meeting his. Harry stumbles for a few seconds, unsure of what to say. Louis looks embarrassed again, opening his mouth to answer, but Harry beats him to it. 

“I will. He certainly needs looked after,” Harry replies with a small laugh. Louis appears shocked by his words, and Harry is shocked, too, if he’s honest with himself. He has no idea what prompted him to say it. He thinks it has something to do with the look in her kind eyes, like a worried mother. Harry’s heart aches because he doesn't ever recall seeing that look in his own mom’s eyes. The next thing he knows, she is hugging him, her warm arms wrapping around him in an embrace. Harry is so surprised by the touch, it takes him a few moments to hug her back as he avoids Louis’ gaze. 

With one final goodbye, they leave her in the cluttered office, and Harry continues to avoid Louis’ eyes. He doesn’t know how to feel. He doesn't know what to think. He now understands what Louis was planning to do with the stolen money though, and Harry can’t decide what’s right. On one hand, he stole the money from a man that probably worked hard for it, but, at the same time, he gave it to someone who really needed it. Harry’s thoughts are all over the place with questions that he doesn't have moral answers to. He has never felt so baffled by a situation in his life. It still doesn’t change the fact that Louis killed someone, but he finds himself wondering why and not automatically thinking about how wrong it is. 

“Lou! Lou! Hi! How are you!? I haven’t seen you in so long!” A voice greets Louis enthusiastically, snapping Harry out of his thoughts. The voice is coated with a thick inner city accent and is rough, almost as if it is out of tune but perfectly harmonized at the same time. The same accent Harry can hear in Louis’ voice, which makes Harry wonder how Louis’ knows this kid. 

“Hey, Dom! It’s good to see you, too!” Louis returns with a huge smile, allowing Dom to hug him. Dom steps away from the hug, eyeing Harry critically. Harry barely resists the urge to squirm. “Dom, this is my friend, Haz. Haz, this is Dom. I’ve known him for a few years now.” It is then that Harry notices what Dom is wearing, and it’s odd. A black and white striped shirt, a rip in the left arm and a pair of black jeans with chains on them. He has a silver necklace that is connected with a small padlock. He has an interesting sense of style, but Harry finds he doesn’t hate it. 

“Nice to meetcha,” Dom says with a wave, but there isn’t any friendliness in his tone or gesture. His full lips are pulled into a sneer, the black lipstick painted there is smeared, almost as if he meant to do it. The eyeliner around his greenish eyes is also smeared, and his dark hair is matted and sticking up in all directions. Harry looks between them, realizing that Dom may have a crush on Louis despite the fact that Louis is probably at least 10 years his senior. Louis seems oblivious to this, and it’s kind of cute. 

“It’s very nice meeting you, too,” Harry responds, smiling at the younger boy because he doesn't know what else to say. He couldn’t be much older than 16, his clothes dirty and ripped. He can’t decide if that’s the look he is going for, or if it’s just from wear and tear living on the streets. Harry feels sorry for him. He couldn’t imagine being homeless at 16 and living in a shelter. He must be so scared, so it makes sense as to why he’s so distrusting of Harry. 

“Have you been trying to keep up with school?” Louis asks with a gentle smile. Harry had never thought about that, though. Do homeless kids go to school? If so, how? Who enrolls them? Harry bites his lip with the question, trying not to stare at the people around them. 

“Not really. I can’t focus. The teachers always tell me ‘m stupid and distracted. What’s the point?” Dom’s voice is low, his tone dismal, and Harry’s heart breaks a tiny bit. Harry doesn't know him personally, but why would any teacher ever tell him he’s stupid? He has to be lying or exaggerating. Harry’s teachers and tutors have always been nothing but supportive. Harry knows he went to private school, but he doesn’t think public schools areas bad as others make them out to be. He thought they were given the same educational opportunities as their private school peers, but maybe Harry was wrong. 

“I understand. I was a lot like you. I hated school. I couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t even manage to stay in my seat most of the time. I was the class clown, always loud and disruptive. My geography teacher told me I was dumb all the time. Said I would never amount to anything. School isn’t for everyone, but education is important. You’re a smart kid, Dom, but do what you think is best,” Louis advises, and Harry is a bit shocked by that information. 

Louis is a criminal, but Harry knows he isn’t dumb. He is actually fairly intelligent despite the beliefs Harry used to hold. He remembers when he called Louis stupid for cursing, and Louis hit him with statistical information. Harry was so shocked, he didn't know how to respond. That feels like a lifetime ago when in reality it was only a few days. Harry doesn’t even feel like the same person anymore. He feels sick with the realization that he is probably a lot like the teachers they are speaking of, calling people stupid when he doesn’t understand them. He has been guilty of it in the past, but now he knows first hand that he can’t judge a painting by the brushstrokes. Sometimes you have to take a step back to see it in its entirety. 

“The doctors told my mom that I have ADHD when I was little. She made me take meds and shit. I hated them. They made me feel like a zombie. Sometimes when my head is going all crazy, I’ll write and that helps,” Dom explains, his words loud and quick. The kid is kind of quirky, and Harry thinks he likes him. He wishes he could help him in some way. Wait. Harry could help him. He’s rich. His dad could probably fund this entire shelter for the next twenty years. So why doesn’t he? Louis does more to keep places like this running than his dad or even himself, and Louis isn’t even wealthy. Harry feels dumbfounded. This is exactly the point Louis was trying to make. Holy… 

“Then keep writing. Listen, man, we’ve gotta go. Take care of yourself though, okay? And call me if you need anything. You have my number. Try to stay off the streets as much as possible,” Louis says, and Dom looks disappointed for a split second before he covers it with a wide smile. It’s almost unnerving. All of his features are so large, but at the same time Harry would put him on the cover of a magazine or on a runway. He’s got that grungy look that some designers go for. He could probably do well in the industry, and Harry makes a mental note to come back and give him his agent’s business card. 

“Yeah okay. I will. It was great seeing you Lou! I missed you.” Dom then leans in, giving Louis a firm hug as he glances at Harry, probably to see if Harry looks jealous. Harry’s not jealous, though. Dom is a kid. Louis probably sees him as more of a younger brother than anything else. Harry briefly wonders about Louis’ family. He’s never mentioned a family, having siblings or anything like that. He has no pictures of family in his house either, so Harry’s not sure if he even has one. Well a family that he is close with at least, and Harry can’t help be curious about it. 

“I miss you, too. We will get lunch or something soon, yeah?” Louis asks, and pulls away from the brief hug even though Dom clearly wasn’t ready to break it. He looks sad at the loss, and Harry wonders what it would be like to hug Louis. He doesn't really know how it would feel, since he is well aware of what Louis is capable of, but at the same time, he thinks it would feel like a sunny day. He doesn't know where this sudden desire to hug Louis is coming from. He thinks it’s because he has seen Louis engage in so many hugs since they got here, and he has never hugged Harry despite the fact that they’ve done other stuff. Harry tells himself that he doesn’t care. Tells himself he doesn’t want to hug Louis. 

“Yeah. I’d love that!” Dom responds, nodding his head enthusiastically, another wide smile spreading across his face. He bobs up on his tiptoes then back down again a few times, the heavy chain around his neck barely swaying a bit. He seems so full of energy and life despite his circumstances; Harry really respects that. Harry doesn't know how he would react if he was a teenager and suddenly found himself homeless. Harry has never wanted for anything in his entire life. Never wondered where his next meal would come from or where he was getting his clothes. This outing has really put some things in perspective, and Harry thinks that may have been Louis’ intention. That, and Harry would have never believed Louis if this is what he told him he was doing with the money. 

“You do realize he has a crush on you, right?” Harry asks as soon as they are out of ear shot. He shoots a teasing smile at Louis, and the older man rolls his eyes in response. 

“Nah. He’s just a kid. We’re from the same neighborhood, so I have a bit of a soft spot for him. Reminds me a lot of me when I was his age, so I try to talk to him when I’m here, maybe take him to lunch every so often,” Louis tells him, as he opens the door that leads outside. Harry shivers. It feels like it has dropped thirteen degrees since they were out here last. He is suddenly so thankful for the places like the shelter behind them. It’s far too cold to be outside. 

“He has a crush. It’s cute,” Harry says, grinning as he nudges Louis with his elbow. Louis laughs, and Harry loves it. Harry glances back at the shelter as he gets into the car. He had always thought that people who were homeless somewhat deserved it. They must have done something to get into that situation. They refused to work or they chose not to go to school to get an education for a better paying job. That’s why he never really felt pity for them because they obviously didn’t want to help themselves, but now he’s not so sure. They deserve a roof over their heads, and now they are just set up for failure. How are they supposed to find a home when they lost theirs so early on? Harry finds he is leaving the shelter with more questions than answers. 

_________

“I have to admit, I’m surprised that the sushi place was so good. It looked kind of sketchy,” Harry says, after eating the last bite of the dragon roll they were sharing. Well they had gotten four rolls to split between them, and Louis is pleased that Harry seems to like them. The look on Harry’s face was priceless when they pulled in front of the place, and Louis declared he was getting them sushi for dinner. Louis wanted something lighter, his stomach still touchy from what happened earlier that day. 

“Since when do you say words like sketchy?” Louis asks, a teasing smile playing across his face. Harry looks confused by the question for a split second, then his features morph into contemplation. Louis meant it to be a joke; he didn’t think Harry would be questioning his whole existence. After a few moments, Harry looks like he is about to say something, so Louis sits back in his chair and waits. 

“How long have you been donating to Kiki?” Harry asks, and there it is. Louis was expecting the question. He could feel it brewing from the moment they got into the car after they left the shelter. Louis typically keeps his cards close to his chest, not wanting to reveal too much of himself, but for some reason the idea of Harry hating him is too much for him. When Harry started panicking, thinking about how Louis had touched him the night before, Louis couldn’t handle it. He just couldn’t. He felt the need to convince Harry that he wasn’t what he thought him to be, and the only way of doing that was taking him to the shelter. He also knows that Harry is very inquisitive, so he was aware of the questions it would bring. He is sort of prepared for them. 

“As soon as I was able to,” Louis answers, wanting to tell the truth but also keep the answers as vague as possible. Old habits die hard, he supposes. Plus he is not allowed to get attached to Harry. He is going to be gone in a few days, and the less he knows, the better. Louis has wondered if Harry would turn him in after all of this. He can identify him, however he still doesn't know where he lives. Louis can take on a different identity if he has to. He’s not attached to the name his parents gave him, after all. At the thought of his mom, the last words Carey said float through his mind, like a ghost haunting him. 

“Is that the shelter you spoke of last night? She had a picture of you and Niall on her wall, so I’m assuming it was,” Harry says matter of factly, and Louis stiffens, the image of Carey’s bloody mouth forming his last words, floating away with Harry’s statement. He had almost forgotten about their conversation last night. What he told Harry about his friendship with Niall. Louis has learned that time with Harry seems to go much faster. He feels like Harry has lived in his house for years instead of mere days. Fuck. He had forgotten about the picture though, so it would make sense for Harry to put the pieces together. He is so used to her office, he doesn’t even bother looking at his surroundings when he’s there. He knows that whole shelter like the back of his hand, after all. Harry is watching him carefully, his eyes squinted. “The truth, Lou. Please. The truth.” 

“Yeah. Back then it wasn’t just for gay youth, but yeah. It was there. As soon as I joined the organization, I began giving as much money to them as possible. Kiki frowned upon my involvement in criminal activity, she still does, but she understands that every single penny I give her is from very bad people who can afford to lose some. People who have done questionable things or have gotten that money via illegal means,” Louis explains, hoping Harry understands. He doesn't think he will, though. He can feel the fight that will probably come. 

“Like the man you killed today?” Harry asks, his voice icy and cold. Yup. Just as Louis expected. He is surprised it’s taken this long. He thinks he may have rattled Harry a bit when he took him to the shelter, though. He tries to suppress his annoyance because Harry obviously doesn't know the whole situation. He doesn't even seem to want to understand. All he sees is black and white, and Louis is so fucking tired of this conversation. Despite this, Louis wants to make him understand. He wants to shake him until he sees the world for what it is, gray and miserable. 

“That was no man. He was a monster who just so happened to have a man’s name and face,” Louis answers, biting his tongue on what he wants to say. His limbs begin shaking with the memory of what had occurred. Of what he walked in on. Of everything he knows about Carey as a person. The man is horrible. He was definitely in the ‘deserves to die’ category that Louis reserves only for the worst of humanity. The ones that will never be rehabilitated. The people who are pure, undeniable evil that have tar in place of blood and black holes where their heart should be. He’s not made of twinkling stardust that comes from the cosmos. No. Carey was dark matter, the stuff that lives as a contrast to the beauty that exists in the world. Pure darkness that expands to remove light. Nothing bright can penetrate it. Nothing can survive it. 

“What was his name? Say his name, Louis. Say the name of the man you killed today,” Harry demands, through gritted teeth, snapping Louis out of the galaxy his thoughts were in. Louis blinks a few times, Harry’s features coming into focus. He can tell Harry is already getting worked up; he is squeezing his hands together, as if it’s the only thing stopping him from strangling Louis. 

“Carey,” Louis spits the name like a poison, before he realizes his mistake. He just wanted to shut Harry up, but now he wishes he could take the name back. He wishes he could suck that venom back into his system where it would slowly destroy him. He watches Harry’s expression, praying to no God in particular that Harry won’t put the pieces together. Harry is smart though, he can almost see him completing the damn jigsaw in his head. Louis’ limbs feel frozen in the moment. He is afraid that any movement on his part, even breathing, will somehow give Harry the final piece. 

“Wait? Carey? As in the man at the docks the other day? The man that works for my father? That Carey?” Harry asks, and Louis is already internally cursing himself for his loose lips. It was a stupid fucking mistake, and Louis seems to have been making a lot of those lately. He didn’t mean to let his name slip. He had no intentions of telling Harry his name because of this very outcome, Harry figuring out that a member of a mob was planted in his father’s business. Louis briefly considers lying to him, but maybe it will be good for Harry to actually see that not all men in his father's business are upstanding gentlemen. Some are the monsters Harry thinks Louis to be. 

“Yes. That Carey. I don’t know what he did for your father, but he’s bad news, Harry. Believe me when I say that he was a horrible person. I mean, let me be clear, just because he works for your dad doesn’t mean your dad is bad in any way. He may just have bad people working for him, but he doesn't know they’re bad,” Louis tells him, trying to put as much honesty in his tone as he can muster. Harry looks surprised for a split second, but then his features morph into something that is completely unreadable. He looks contemplative, but Louis doesn't know exactly what he is thinking about. Harry seems relatively far removed from his father’s business, so it wouldn’t be a surprise to Louis if he really had no idea what connection Carey had to his family. 

“I don’t know what Carey did for my dad. Honestly, I’ve done everything I can to stay away from his business. I don’t know the man personally. I’ve just seen him around, but there is nothing he could have possibly done that meant he was deserving of his life being taken from him,” Harry finally responds, the word ‘nothing’ ringing in Louis’ ears like a clock tower at midnight. Louis begins shaking his head, dumbfounded by Harry’s stance, completely forgetting all questions he had related to Carey, and his involvement with Des Styles. How could something be so simple to him? How does he see the world this way? Was he really that sheltered? It’s frustrating as hell for Louis, and he can’t seem to let it go. 

“Yes. There is,” Louis responds through gritted teeth, the words sounding akin to a coiled up snake, getting ready to strike out of protection. He feels that way, his whole body tense, ready for the blow that is about to come. Not a physical blow. He could take that, but another blow from Harry about his morality. He doesn't know why those hurt, but they do. A part of him wants to just let Harry see him as a monster, but another part of him wants to show Harry the world without a filter. 

“What? What could he have possibly done that death was the only feasible answer?” Harry asks, his tone passionate and heated, a stark contrast to Louis’ which has become distant and cold. That’s the thing about Harry, though. They are so opposite in every way, but the moment they collide everything shifts. The elements within battle for dominance, but instead of a winner, they just combine creating something entirely new. No more fiery heat. No more cold indifference. Sparks. Electricity. An unexplainable energy is created only when galaxies collide and the universe is no more. 

“Are you sure you want to know?” When Harry nods, Louis licks his lips and continues, his limbs shaking with the rush of what had occurred hours ago. The memory of the life leaving Carey’s eyes. “We walked in on him trying to rape my fucking sister.” The silence that follows Louis’ statement is deafening, leaving a faint buzz in Louis’ ears. Harry is gaping at him, his mouth and limbs frozen in shock. Good. Louis wanted to fucking shock him. He wanted to throw him in the freezing waters of reality and watch it overwhelm Harry’s system as he flails within the waves. 

“Your sister?” Harry asks, as if he doesn't know what else to say. He probably doesn’t. He clearly was not expecting those words, and it has most likely thrown his world into a new direction, spinning on its axis again. Louis enjoys spinning worlds though, so maybe he has some sort of God complex. Either way, his statement was meant to shut Harry up, and it seems to have worked. 

“Yes. My sister, Lottie. I guess she was working as his maid, and when we walked in, he was attempting to rape her,” Louis explains further. Harry’s mouth is gaped open again, sucking in air but not seeming to actually inhale as memories flash before Louis' eyes. He can’t seem to get them to stop. The scene of that disgusting man on top of his sister. His hands all over her as she begged him to stop. The way her dress was ripped, the tears in her blue eyes. Blue eyes that look so much like his own, and his mom’s. Louis closes his eyes, trying not to let his mind venture towards his long forgotten mother. 

The thing is, Louis had always dreamed about reuniting with Lottie, and how it would happen. He imagined a young girl running into his arms as he picked her up and spun her around. The sound of birds chirping, the smell of flowers, and sun shining down as a backdrop to the scene. He pictured it a thousand and thirty three different ways, in so many different universes. Somedays, it was the only thing that kept him going since they used to be so close, but this is what he gets. He gets her crying while begging a mad man not to hurt her. The first time he sees her after all these years, and she is on the cusp of being raped by a true monster. Louis hasn’t believed in God since he was kicked out of his house, but this just solidifies that belief. No God would allow this. 

“Wait…” Harry starts, eyes getting wide with whatever he is about to say. “What were you doing at Carey’s home in the first place? You said you know he works for my dad, but what does that have to do with you? Are you saying my dad is a bad guy? What were you doing there?” Harry’s tone is accusing with the questions, as if he has backed Louis into a corner during his interrogation. Louis barely hears him though, his mind too preoccupied with all the ways he thought he would see Lottie again. The ways he has imagined she would grow up, the woman she would become. He thought he would get to talk to her about her life, not be told to take it away from her. Louis’ breath stutters at the thought. 

“Yeah, he works for your dad in some capacity, but like I said, it doesn't mean your dad is bad. Guys like that get planted in the corporate world all the time. They are there as a way to sway any big decisions that may affect people like Simon or Selley. We were actually planning to torture him for information about Selley’s next operation. We think he is planning something big,” Louis responds, voice flat, too lost in memories to even bother lying about it. He shakes his head a few times, blinking, trying to return to Earth. Harry is looking at him, his expression an odd mixture of worry and anger. Why is he angry? 

“So you broke into Carey’s house for the sole purpose of torturing him? And you’re trying to convince me that he deserved to be tortured because he has some sort of vital information about some other guy? He may not have been raping her. You could have read the situation wrong. She may have been concenting…” Harry starts, but Louis cuts him off before he even allows him to continue that ridiculous train of thought. Of course Harry would look for any way possible to make Louis into a horrible person, to make Louis the bad guy. Of course he would somehow justify the actions of every other sorry excuse of a human being that isn’t Louis. 

“Don’t be so fucking naïve. She was screaming, begging him to stop. He ripped her clothes. She had bruises from his hands all over her body. I’m sure it’s not the first time he has raped the maid either. He has killed far more people than I ever have and even has his hands in some underground sex trafficking rings. Either way, after he raped her, he was probably going to sell Lottie to the highest bidder. He is a horrible person, Harry, and you are sitting here acting as though his life is worth something,” Louis defends, his skin prickling with heat again as his voice raises, maintaining eye contact with Harry. 

“Okay… so you’re right. He was a horrible person,” Harry finally admits, his eyes cast down, voice on the verge of sheepish. Louis feels like he won, and he should be collecting the poker chips from the middle of the table however he can’t celebrate just yet. He doesn’t know what Harry is thinking, and it's bothering him. Is Harry wondering what he would have done in that exact situation? Does Harry understand why Louis did what he did, and why he isn’t even the least bit remorseful for his actions? He may never get the answer, because Harry changes the subject, “Who’s Selley? You mentioned him before, something about his operation, but who is he?” 

“He is the leader of another mob. The only other one in the city. Basically their version of Simon. He’s a horrible man,” Louis answers, his limbs shaking at the very thought of Selley. He makes Carey look like an angel. Louis doesn’t know everything that Simon’s business entails. He thinks he knows most of it, but either way, if Simon did half of the shit Selley did, Louis would have walked away a long time ago. Louis hopes that Simon isn’t involved at least, but Louis has preferred to stay in his lane, not really trying to find out about things in the organization that he isn’t directly a part of. 

“How do you know he’s horrible? Because Simon said so?” Harry asks, his tone condescending. Louis feels his body begin to heat up even more, the rage he felt when thinking about Carey resurfacing at Harry’s mocking tone. Again, Harry has jumped to a conclusion without even knowing all of the facts. He has let his own perspective of the world taint the reality of it. Perspective is a funny thing, and Harry can’t seem to get past his own sometimes. Just when Louis thinks he has made progress, something like this occurs. He feels as though he is dancing with Harry, and it is getting tiring. His feet are sore, and he wants to shower. 

“No. I’ve met Selley a few times. The first time was when I was fourteen. I was scared and alone. I was begging for food, and this nice man came up to me and offered to take me to grab something to eat. I didn’t really trust him, but I was starving, and I hadn’t quite figured out how to steal nor had I found Kiki’s shelter. It’s not like she could provide every meal anyway, so I went with him,” Louis starts, deciding to get Harry roped into the story first. To show him that his perception of a situation isn’t always right. 

“Sounds like a pretty nice guy to me, buying you food,” Harry says, and Louis rolls his eyes. He did, however, say exactly what Louis had expected. He automatically assumed that Selley was a nice guy given the facts that Louis presented and because he believes that he is Simon’s enemy. It’s like Harry doesn't realize that there can be more than one bad guy in a story. That the villain is one version of the story is the hero in another. What is a means of living to a snake, is death to its prey. 

“After we ordered, I went to the restroom,” Louis continues, “As I was coming back out, I watched Selley slip something into my soda, and stir it around, so it would dissolve. I later found out that he runs a major sex trafficking organization. Carey is usually the person that finds the victims, but I guess Selley saw an opportunity he couldn’t pass up. He was going to drug me, then make money off my body. I was perfect. A young little twink with no one in the world that loved me. No one that would miss me. A creep would have paid good money for me.” His voice sounds dejected to his own ears, having gotten caught up in yet another memory. He shivers, an alternative universe where Louis didn’t see what Selley had done flashing before his eyes. 

“Wow… I- I guess I never thought about sex trafficking being a real thing. I’ve seen stuff about it on the news, but I always turn off the news because it makes me uncomfortable,” Harry admits, his eyes falling again as he fiddles with his fingers, probably missing his rings. Louis had him take them off before they left. Those things draw a huge amount of attention, and Louis didn’t want even more attention drawn to them. He was already planning on walking into a homeless shelter with what could very well be a model.

“Yeah well, it’s nice that you can turn off what happens in the world because it makes you uncomfortable. Some people don’t have the convenience of changing the channel,” Louis responds, his tone sharp. 

“I- I think I’m starting to understand that…” Harry winces, and Louis wants to smirk in triumph. Maybe he is finally getting Harry to see his point of view. It’s not that he refuses to see Harry’s. This goes both ways. It’s just that Harry’s is so skewed it’s not even based on reality anymore. At least Louis sees the world for what it is. Louis does believe there are good things and good people in the world, but even their hands aren’t clean. Everyone has done something immoral, even if it’s just a thought. No one is perfect. 

“Anyway, I’m not saying Simon is a good guy. He is by no means a saint, but he was the lesser of two evils at the time. He took care of me. He gave me the family I longed for. He was like an uncle to me,” Louis’ voice cracks, more emotions that he thought he had repressed suddenly returning to the surface. Louis bites his lip, trying to stop his eyes from tearing up. He doesn't know how he feels about Simon anymore, and he already feels exposed to Harry. 

“Why are you so loyal to him? I still don’t understand,” Harry says, the question so genuine, it makes Louis’ chest hurt even more. His green eyes are wide, almost as if he is begging Louis to make him understand. Unlike when Louis was in his bathroom, Harry isn’t looking at him as if he is some monster in front of him. No. He is looking at Louis as a human once more. As someone who bleeds, and Louis feels like he is bleeding out now. The blood spilling at Harry’s feet, his secrets hidden amongst the drops. 

“I told you. He saved me from Selley in a lot of ways. Like right after the Selley situation, I ran into Simon who told me to stay away from him. Then I met Niall at the shelter and we started stealing and doing shit, and we caught Simon's attention after about a year or two. He approached us with a job. He gave me a family when I didn’t have one. He cared about me,” Louis says, his voice taking on a pleading tone, almost as if he is trying to justify it to himself, too. He is though. At this point, he doesn't know how he feels about Simon. Simon is like his uncle, the boys his family, and he feels betrayed. Just like he did when he was a young boy with his biological family. 

“If you knew Carey worked for Selley and was a part of all of this horrifying criminal activity, then why did you allow your sister to work for someone like that?” Harry asks, breaking Louis out of thoughts of his last conversation with Simon. Louis shakes his head, dislodging the memory as he opens his eyes to focus them on Harry again, his dark brows knitted together in concern. Louis is so confused for a split second. How could Harry think he would allow it? Does he really think so lowly of him? Then he realizes Harry doesn’t know their story. He doesn't know how long it’s been. He doesn't know anything about Louis or his relationship with his family, and now they are at an impasse. Louis’ cards are still close to his chest, and now his hand is at risk. Louis has two choices, keep upping the stakes or fold. 

“I didn’t know she was working for him. I hadn’t seen her since I was fourteen.” Louis folds with a sigh, feeling as though he just revealed his hand for all to see. It’s like Harry is peeling his skin off, exposing everything raw that lies beneath the surface. The worst part is, he feels as though he is watching from the outside because he knows Harry is going to ask. He knows he is going to answer because he opened this door. He chose to do this, so he displays his cards on the table for Harry to see. It’s just one hand. It’s just one secret. One tiny detail about himself. He just hopes Harry doesn’t continue to up the ante with the next deal. 

“What happened to your family, Lou?” Harry asks, looking at Louis with big green eyes. Louis can’t bear it for long, shutting his eyes for a few seconds, willing away his memories. It’s not working, though. He hasn’t thought about it for so long, and hasn’t discussed it for longer. It’s like the memories he has ignored for so long are mud, and they’ve settled into the bottom of his psyche, the water on top clear. The events of the day along with Harry’s questions are acting like a giant spoon, stirring everything up. The water is murky with the motion, and there is no way to stop the swirling as it brings the mud further to the surface. That mud is foreign to him because Louis never says any of this out loud. None of the boys really discuss their past, and how they got here. It’s an unspoken rule. He knows more about Niall than Ashton or Luke because he met Niall before he joined the organization. 

“My dad kicked me out of the house when he found me sucking my best friend’s dick. He and my mom got into a huge fight about it, but he told her he didn’t want me for a son, and she could go with me if she wanted. I guess she didn’t want to. Lottie wasn’t even home, so I never got to say goodbye,” Louis answers after a long moment, the memory from that day coming to the forefront of his mind, scratching his already raw skin. He tries to breathe, but he feels like he can’t. 

“Oh my God. I’m so sorry. How could someone do that to their son? That’s how you ended up in the shelter I’m assuming. You were fourteen. Jesus, you must have been so scared,” Harry says, but the words only echo in Louis’ ear, memories from that fateful day taking over every available space in his brain like a fog. Harry’s kind expression disappears, replaced by his dad screaming at him while he literally throws him out of the house with nothing but the clothes on his back, telling him that he was no longer welcome in the only home he’d ever known. He will never forget his mom crying silently beside him, but not helping him, even when he begged her to. She’s dead, from what Carey said, and Louis has to blink back tears. He tries to suppress the memories and the tears, to forget her, but he can’t. 

“It is what it is,” Louis responds, his voice hollow, feeling as though he isn’t even in the room with Harry. His body is present, but his brain is locked in a memory. Well, a conglomeration of memories. Happier ones featuring his childhood, his beautiful mom teaching him about the world. To be strong. Those are replaced easily by the feeling of abandonment when she didn’t help him. He knows she was scared. She probably felt like she was doing what was best for Lottie, but what about what was best for Louis? Then his brain lands somewhere with Carey. He could have been lying to make Louis angry, but for some reason the words rang true to him. 

His mom is dead. He has another little sister. Louis doesn't know how to process it. The last memory he will ever have of his mom is the tears in her blue eyes when she abandoned him. When she just mouthed ‘goodbye’ then shut the door in his face. When he pounded on the door, begging them to let him back inside. Promising to be a better son. A better role model for Lottie. The white door stayed firmly shut, though, his salty tears trailing down it’s surface. He remembers clearly watching them race each other, telling himself that the door would open before they reached the bottom, and he would never know the winner. The one on the right won. He knows because it never opened, and Louis eventually left with his head bowed and his heart shattered. 

“Your tattoo...” Harry’s words snap Louis out of the memory of his tear trail on the door. The kitchen is spinning, his world moving under his feet as if he was snapped back into reality too fast to get his balance. Louis shrugs in answer because it’s words he lives by. He says it so often, he got them tattooed on his chest. There to remind him every time he looks in the mirror that the world, his world, is what it is. Some things he can’t change. Some events will never be reversed, and he has to live with them. Louis can feel his eyes start to sting with unshed tears as he bites his lip, trying to keep them in. He doesn’t cry. He most certainly doesn't cry in front of people. 

“Louis, are- are you okay?” Harry’s voice is muffled as it seeps into his conscious mind. Louis nods, but it’s a lie. He feels like he is going to throw up, his entire body beginning to shake. He resists the urge to scratch his skin, to hurt himself because his entire body is hurting. He just can not handle this right now. He can’t handle Harry’s sad eyes, his accusations. He can’t handle his Pandora's box of repressed memories from his teenage years. He can’t handle what had occurred with Carey, the new information he gave him that were his last words. He certainly cannot even bear to think about what happened in the in-between, on the phone to Simon, when he told him to kill his sister. 

“I- I think I need to take a shower,” Louis mutters, standing from the table, the legs of the chair loudly scraping against the floor. He suddenly feels dirty from the events that have occurred today, the tar like blood that is still dried on him in some places. The only thing that could possibly cleanse him is fire, fire from deep in the pits of Hell where people like Carey and maybe even himself, belong. He is going to have to settle for hot water and scrub his skin raw like usual. 

Before Harry can object, Louis practically runs out of the kitchen, into the living room then up the stairs. He hardly notices anything as he passes by, too focused on getting out of the room and away from Harry. He goes into his ensuite bathroom, slamming the door behind him, his breaths coming out ragged as if he’d just ran a marathon. He sees the clothes that he had discarded earlier in the bathtub, stiff with dried blood. He grabs them, taking them back into his bedroom and putting them in a trash bag to be burned later. He then returns to his bathroom, turning the shower on as hot as it goes, while he peels the clothes from his raw skin, refusing to look in the mirror. 

As soon as the water is scalding hot, Louis gets in. His entire body is shaking, his skin is numb even though the water feels like fire. After a few seconds, his trembling legs finally give out and he collapses on the floor of the shower. He begins to sob, the emotions of the day finally enveloping him, not allowing the water to touch his skin. The only thing he feels is sorrow, deep in his chest, like a stab wound bleeding out with each pump of his wretched heart. There is no blood in the water around him even though it feels as though there should be. That’s the interesting thing about blood, it can be both a sign of life and a sign of death. Louis doesn’t think he fits into either category, though. He doesn’t feel like he is living, but he certainly knows he hasn’t greeted the relief that comes with death. 

The water cascades down around him, burning his skin, but it does not distract him from the memories dancing in front of his eyes, the steam in the shower forming the ghosts of his forgotten past. Long spindling fingers emerge from the stream, attached to eerie hands that are reaching for him, and he allows them to wrap around his body like thorns from a branch, pulling him deeper into his remorse. He thinks he’s still crying, but the water is washing away his tears too fast to see them. His body is shaking though, each sob coming out louder and louder. He doesn't even think about masking them. He doesn’t think he can. 

His body is hurting. His mom is dead, and he never got to tell her goodbye. How did she even die? She probably wasn’t even 50 years old since she had him so young. His beautiful mom that abandoned him is dead, and he never found out why she chose to let him go. Why she watched him leave with nothing. He wants to scream because those answers were taken from him. Everything was taken from him. He has lost everything, and he is in danger of losing everything again. The home he found all on his own. The family he created from misfits with fucked up pasts. 

Now apparently he has two little sisters, one of which he has never even met. His parents must have had her after they kicked him out, probably trying to replace the child they discarded like a clock that could no longer tell time. Carey said that Lottie is taking care of her, and oh god, that must be so difficult. What happened to his dad? Did he die with his mom? Louis hates that another pang of sadness hits him in the chest with that thought. 

He had told himself he hates his dad. He told himself that he didn’t care when the bastard kicked him out, but now he’s probably gone, too. Perhaps Louis still clung to the hope of forgiveness from them. That they would someday welcome him back into their home with open arms. They didn’t. They didn’t even try to find him. Louis cries harder for the family he lost, then he remembers his conversation with Simon. 

The nasally voice in his head sounds like it is in the shower with him as it tells him that he needs to kill his sister for the sake of the organization. What if Louis just lost the only family he has left because he couldn’t do it? What if he did put the entire organization at risk? What if Louis loses them too? Oh god. He can’t bear the thought of being alone in the world again. He hates himself at that moment. He has no one to blame but himself, afterall. It’s his fault that he’s gay. It’s his fault that his father kicked him out, and he wasn’t there for his mother’s final days. It will be his fault when he loses his new family. He feels dirty somehow, as if he betrayed someone. Like he needs to wash the evidence of his betrayal from his skin. 

Louis quickly grabs the soap and his scrub brush with a trembling hand. Once it is lathered, he begins scratching his skin until it’s raw. It’s red and angry now, finally resembling how it felt when Louis revealed his cards to Harry. Since he let Harry in and answered his stupid questions due to his own desire to not be a villain in Harry’s story. He is, though. He is the villain. He kidnapped him. He tortured someone today. He killed them in cold blood, watched as the red substance seeped out of him until he was no longer twitching. He is a monster. He is the villain as Harry said. 

He is sobbing now, trying to feel clean and somehow not so alone, but he is alone. He is alone in this shower. Alone with his thoughts. He is drowning. He can’t fucking breathe. He doesn’t deserve to breathe though. Clean air is for clean people, and Louis is dirty. He is tainted by his job and his past. Harry said so, and Louis agrees. He can’t even do his job properly anymore. He stupidly jeopardized the family he found for the sake of a girl he doesn’t even know anymore. When Simon finds out, he will kill Louis, or worse, abandon him just like his parents did. He can feel more panic rise with the thought. Cold and alone again. He tries to calm himself, tries to breathe, but he can't.

He concentrates on the soapy water going down the drain until it runs clear, spiraling much like his thoughts, but it looks wrong somehow. It should have blood in it. It should be tinted red as it circles the drain, but it’s not. It’s clear. This amount of pain should draw blood right? Some evidence of his turmoil, but the water is clear. No fog. No mud. It’s clean, and Louis just doesn't understand how. It should be dirty at the very least. It should be brown as it washes his sins away. It should be brown and red, the color of dirt and blood. That’s all Louis’ made of, but it’s clear. 

He’s just so angry at himself for feeling this confused. Louis is usually so sure of himself. So confident, but now, he is questioning his very existence. Maybe he is a villain. Maybe he is the bad guy. Maybe the world is black and white, and Louis is a horrible person. He always justifies his actions because he is too fucked up for anything remotely logical and kind. In a spurt of anger, Louis throws the brush, the handle creating a loud bang as it hits the shower wall, bouncing off and clanging against the shower door, landing on Louis’ toe. Louis doesn't feel it, though. He doesn’t cry out in pain, just in sadness.

He curls in on himself, squeezing his knees to his naked body as tightly as his body would allow. He thinks the water is cold now, the temperature feeling frigid on his overheated and raw skin. Louis doesn't react though, his mind replaying the memories over and over in his head, not being able to decide on which era of his life it wants him to focus on. The only prevalent thought is family. The family he was born with and the one he made, and how he disappointed both. He rocks back and forth, his feet propelling the motion on the slick floor as sobs continue to wrack his body. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again... not a cliffhanger... don't come at me


	9. Dust to Dust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry has a choice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Linda's favorite chapter!! This one was difficult for me to write because it is very emotionally charged, and I didn't wanna fuck it up. Hope it's not shit! 
> 
> A quick thank my two betas, Dana and Linda, for reading this fic and putting up with my constant questioning of my sanity. This one was hard, even for them, so a huge thank you is in order. They are amazing friends, and I love them dearly. 
> 
> If you're interested in supporting me as a writer, please look at my [author website](https://lmarcherofficial.com/%20rel=). 
> 
> There is also a [Spotify Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1l6QjjLoOIRPOCgZt8d4YV?si=8kwH6LpvQzik8AfjPVMPIw) that will be updated weekly with the songs represented as chapter titles as well as any other songs I feel fit with the emotions/theme of the chapter.

_Let me in the wall, you've built around  
_ _And we can light a match and burn it down  
_ _Let me hold your hand and dance 'round and 'round the flame_  
_In front of us  
_ _Dust to- The Civil Wars_

Harry almost follows Louis’ retreating figure, but he stops himself. He tells himself he doesn’t care that Louis is clearly upset. He tells himself he didn’t see the haunted look in Louis’ eyes as if he had seen a ghost. He thinks there is more to the story than Louis is telling him, but that always seems to be the case with the other man. Harry can’t deny that Louis revealed more of himself during their conversation than he ever has. Harry feels like he is beginning to understand Louis and the life he chose. Well, that’s the issue. It didn’t seem like Louis had much of a choice. 

Harry’s heart breaks when he thinks about a young, scared Louis being cast out of his own home by his parents. Harry could not even begin to imagine. His parents may not have always been the most loving or present, but they still provided him with basic life necessities. He had a roof over his head, there was always food on the table, and they provided him with anything he could ever want. It does make him realize that maybe he and Louis aren’t so different, afterall. Louis was homeless, literally, while Harry has always felt somewhat homeless, like he doesn’t have a place he belongs. 

Harry is exhausted after the events of the day. He feels like this day has lasted weeks, and he has been a part of this world his entire life when it’s really only been mere days. He has experienced the entire range of emotions today, and it has left him physically and mentally drained. He rubs his eyes, the absence of his rings feeling foreign. He hasn’t worn them that much lately, and it’s strange. They had become a part of him, a part of his persona. He feels as if this week has stripped him of all his material possessions and forced him to look at himself without anything obscuring his view. Bare. Raw. In his purest form, and it scares him. 

Harry sighs as he gets up from the table, deciding to go to bed. He has no idea what tomorrow will bring, but he hopes it may be his freedom. It’s strange, though. The longer he is here, the less he thinks about being free. At least he is no longer lonely. He has spent more time around people in the last few days than he has in the last few months combined. He spent the entire day getting to know Liam. He met Kiki and Dom. He talked to Louis for hours, finally getting a glimpse of who Louis really is, the person he buries deep inside himself.. Harry doesn’t know why, but he doesn’t really want to go back to his old life. He was surrounded by meaningless objects there. He wasn’t important to anyone, and now he is. He feels like he exists in this world, and Harry isn’t sure how to process that information. 

When he makes it to the landing at the top of the stairs, he notices Louis’ bedroom door is open. As he gets closer, he can hear the water running in the shower. Harry peers into the room, his curiosity tamping down any guilt he feels for invading Louis’ privacy. He tells himself that he will leave as soon as he hears the water shut off, not a moment later. He knows he was in the room earlier, but he was too focused on Louis to notice any details. He doesn't know what he even expects to find, but Harry can’t stop himself from creeping in, the lamp occupying the night stand casting a dim light over the room. It’s the very same nightstand that has an empty safe hidden underneath. 

Harry begins snooping, not really finding anything of relevance until he opens the nightstand drawer. Inside he finds a leather bound book. It looks like it would be too large to be a journal of any sort. Harry has a journal of his own, but it’s much smaller. No. This looks like it may hold pictures or memories, akin to a scrapbook. Harry looks around, but all he hears is the sound of running water coming from the bathroom. He slowly pulls the book from its resting spot. It is much heavier than he was expecting, the leather soft against his fingers. He tells himself that if it is a journal, he will not read it. He will close it and place it back in the drawer. 

He sits it down on the bed, trying to be quiet even though the shower is still running. He ignores the guilt rising in his system, telling him to put it back. His curiosity wins out. He runs a finger over the nondescript cover, then his full hand, the texture of the leather cool under the skin of his palm. With shaking fingers he pinches the cover, holding his breath as he opens it. He doesn't know what he was expecting. Maybe an alarm to sound or anthrax powder to be shot in his face. Perhaps a snake or a spider to jump out at him, but none of that happens. Inside he finds newspaper articles. 

As he flips through, he notices they are all about the same person. Charlotte Tomlinson. Only a few have pictures, but she looks strangely familiar. She is a pretty girl with long hair. Harry doesn't know exactly what color it is since the photos are in black and white, but it is a lighter shade, most likely blond. Her eyes also look like they are on the lighter side, maybe blue. Most of the articles are about her accomplishments, the honor’s roll, volunteer work, awards, and her graduation announcement. 

It then dawns on Harry. Lottie. Lottie is the shortened version of Charlotte. Tomlinson is Louis’ last name, and that’s why they called him Tommo. This is Louis’ sister. The one he said he hadn’t seen for over ten years. That’s why she looks familiar to Harry. She looks like Louis. Even in the black and white, pixelated images, Harry can tell they have the same eyes. Harry’s heart stutters in his chest with the realization, and his eyes burn with tears. Louis has kept track of his sister’s accomplishments over the years, and Harry has no idea what to do with this information. It touches his heart, and he doesn’t quite understand why. 

Harry’s hand traces over the text of one particular article, talking about an award Lottie received for academic excellence. Harry doesn’t understand why someone as bright as this girl in the photos would be working as a maid for someone as disgusting as Carey. She should be in college, earning a degree. It’s strange to Harry, seeing the girl Louis had been talking about just minutes prior. A sudden jolt of anger shoots through Harry’s system, freezing his limbs. How could someone hurt such an innocent girl? How could someone take advantage of her and force himself on her? How could someone like that work with his father? Perhaps his father doesn't know, but Harry has the sudden desire to tell him. To ruin Carey’s life, but then he remembers. Louis already took care of Carey’s life, and Harry is torn on how he feels about that. 

Harry jumps at the abrupt clatter of something hitting a wall that comes from the direction of Louis’ bathroom. It’s loud, ringing in his ears, as if something was flung against a hard surface. His heart feels like it is in his throat, beating rapidly, threatening to choke him. With shaky limbs he quickly puts the scrapbook back where he found it, keeping a wary eye on the door, waiting for it to open any minute. It doesn’t; he can still hear the water running in the shower behind it. 

Louis has been in there for a while, and Harry wonders if he should be worried. He could have slipped and fell, explaining the loud noise that just scared the living crap out of him. Concern shoots through Harry’s shaking body at that thought. He shouldn’t be concerned though, should he? Shouldn't he be happy that his captor could be lying and bleeding on the bathroom floor? Harry isn’t though. In fact, he is the opposite, anxiety churning in his gut as he makes his way towards the door on unsteady limbs. 

Once he reaches it, he presses his ear against the cool surface, still hearing nothing but the distinct sound of water running. Anticipation grips him as he holds his breath, his entire body freezing, pressing his ear more firmly against the door. He concentrates, trying to ignore the sound of water pounding against the shower walls and floor. Then he hears what can only be described as soft moans. Fear grips Harry, air leaving his lungs completely, as he tries to listen harder. He knows that is impossible, but he has to try. He has to know what is going on beyond that door.

Harry doesn’t know what to do. Should he leave? Should he go in and check on him? It’s a moral dilemma, and Harry always felt he was good at those. Right now, though, he feels completely unsure of himself. All he can see is Louis bleeding out from a head injury. He tells himself that he doesn’t care, that Louis killed someone today, and he isn’t deserving of Harry’s concern. Maybe Louis’ blood going down the drain just like Carey’s did when it was washed from his killer’s hands is just fate's way of providing justice for Louis’ misdeed, but Harry does care. He cares a lot. The very idea of Louis being injured makes him feel like he may vomit and does something odd to his chest. Harry takes a deep breath, gripping the handle of the door and twisting it, finding it unlocked. He closes his eyes and goes in. 

When Harry opens the bathroom door, the noises Harry heard from the other side are suddenly amplified. Harry’s ears perk up, making out the sound of what he had assumed were moans of pain moments ago. The frosted glass door of the shower is shut, the water running behind it, but there is no steam billowing. The mirror is fogged as if there had been steam, but it has long since run out. Harry steps closer to the shower, listening carefully for any signs of distress. What he hears can be described as distress, but not sounds of physical pain. It sounds more like sobs, as if Louis is crying on the other side. 

Harry stares at the door for a long moment, trying to decide what to do. He doesn't think Louis is hurt, physically, so Harry debates about leaving the bathroom completely. It’s none of his concern, right? Louis is crying, and he probably deserves to be crying, so Harry shouldn’t care. He does, though. His heart hurts with each sob that sounds as though it is ripped from Louis’ chest. Harry doesn’t know why he is crying. Louis did leave their discussion fairly quickly, looking haunted, but of course he gave nothing away, no reason as to why he was upset. Harry turns to leave deciding that it isn’t any of his business. If Louis can be heartless and callous, then Harry can be too. 

As soon as he turns, Louis sobs again. It’s gut wrenching, and it forces Harry to pause. He tries to will his feet to move away, to leave the bathroom and let Louis wallow in his own misery. He shakes his head, taking another deep breath and a step towards the exit. He hears a dull thudding noise coming from the shower, as if Louis is hitting something soft repeatedly against the wall. Harry stops mid step, blinking back his own tears, as another shooting pain travels through his chest. Harry’s heart has already made its way to Louis, his feet following to their own accord as they step slowly towards the shower door. 

Harry takes a deep breath, attempting to prepare himself for what he may find. He slowly opens it, his heart beating out of his chest in anticipation, stopping his breath from leaving his lungs. Harry expects to see Louis as soon as he opens the door, but he is met with an empty wall. He still hears the cries, disturbed every few seconds by a dull thump, so he looks down, finding Louis shivering on the shower floor, under the stream of water. His eyes are shut tight in anguish as he hits his head repeatedly against the wall, arms wound securely around his knees. He doesn’t seem to notice that Harry is even in the room but Harry needs to stop him before he hurts himself. 

“Louis,” Harry says, his voice coming out weak, the sound of the shower drowning it out. Louis doesn’t acknowledge him, so Harry clears his throat. He opens his mouth to say something, anything, but he has no idea what to say. All he can do is stare at Louis’ naked body as he sits shivering on the floor of his shower. Water droplets are traveling over his tan skin, down the contours of his body, obscuring some of that tattoos in their wake. The shaky lines of the skateboarding stick figure look almost straight under the refracted light. Harry’s heart shatters at the sight. 

Louis doesn’t look like the monster Harry has thought him to be. No. Not at all. He looks like a scared boy. The very same one that was kicked out of his parents house at the young age of 14. Harry can’t stop the images of a life he had never even witnessed from flashing through his mind. A young, scared Louis, homeless and shivering in the rain, wondering where he will find his next meal. He blinks a few times, shaking his head trying to clear out the image he created. 

“Louis. Please. You’re gonna hurt yourself,” Harry says softly but loud enough to be heard over the water that is still running however Louis’ small body continues to tremble. Harry tests the temperature of the water, finding it freezing cold. He turns it off. The sudden absence of the water causes Louis to stop the motion of his head, his blue eyes cracking open in surprise. Droplets of water cling to his long eyelashes, some falling onto his freckled cheeks every time he blinks, and Harry briefly wonders if they are tears or if it’s water from the shower. Human. He is so human it hurts Harry’s chest and he forgets how to breathe. 

“Go away, Harry. Please,” Louis murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper and raw from his previous sobs. Harry considers doing as he is asked. Leaving. His brain is screaming at him to leave. It is telling him that’s what he should do, but his heart. The stupid thing that is beating madly in his chest is telling him to stay. He doesn't know why, but he cannot force his legs to start moving. He cannot look away from the man in front of him. The man who has pulled his legs even tighter to his chest, the wet hair matted in different directions. 

“Just leave me alone. You can walk right out the front door, and I won’t fucking stop you. The keycard to unlock the door is in my pants pocket on the floor. The code is 0928. There aren’t any guards I don’t think. I don’t really care. Just go. You shouldn’t have to be around a monster like me,” Louis says, his voice breaking with the last word, the sentence ending on a garbled sob. He buries his face in his arm, crying into the fold to hide his face from the world. Harry is frozen. Louis just told him to leave. To walk out the front door. To escape. Harry glances at the discarded jeans laying on the bathroom floor, then back to Louis, who is still weeping, curled into a ball. 

“My car keys are also in my pocket. You can override the fingerprint lock on the gate by pressing cancel, enter, cancel, then 0928. Once you’re out of the gate, turn left. Stay on that road, and you’ll eventually end up in the city,” Louis rambles, voice muffled, but Harry can tell how tired he is by the sound of it. Like he has given up. Harry’s head is spinning with the new information. This is his chance. The one he has been waiting for. He could leave. He could follow Louis’ directions and find the nearest cop station then lead them back to Louis. He could save Liam. He could save himself. But…

“But they will kill you,” Harry says, voicing the thought that is in his head. It’s the only thing stopping him from picking up Louis discarded pants and doing exactly what Louis told him. He tells himself that he doesn’t care if they kill Louis, but that would make him a hypocrite. That’s not the only reason though. Louis was right, some people do deserve death. Some people aren’t redeemable, but Louis is not one of those people. He was just a scared boy who fell in with the wrong crowd and became a fearless man with far too many buried demons. Enough to rival Satan’s legion in the pits of hell. 

“They will kill me anyway, so what difference does it make? At least they won’t kill you in the process,” Louis responds, looking up to meet Harry’s eyes. They are shiny with unshed tears, some that have already escaped, smeared on his face. Harry’s heart breaks a tiny bit more. Louis is concerned about Harry, someone who has been a total dick to him for the past few days. Kidnapping aside, how is Louis a bad person? He has murdered people in cold blood, but like Louis explained today, the guy was an evil human being. 

“Why do you think they are going to kill you?” Harry asks, completely confused by Louis’ words. Harry replays their earlier conversation in his head, even though it feels like days. He tries to pinpoint something that Louis said to make him feel that way, but he is at a loss. He assumed this emotional outburst was the result of the talk with Louis about his family, but Harry feels like he is missing a crucial piece, like Louis has revealed his cards to him but has one hidden up his sleeve. 

“Because I betrayed them. I didn’t do what I was told,” Louis cries, through chattering teeth. A single tear falls down his cheek, mingling with the water still on his face and body from the shower. His whole body is now trembling, cold from the air around them. Harry wants to get him out of the shower and dry him off, but he doesn't know if he should touch him. The moment feels fragile. Harry could probably attack him right now, and Louis wouldn’t fight back. It’s like he wants to be punished. 

“How did you betray them?” Harry asks, curiosity lacing through his tone. He feels as though Louis is speaking in riddles, but maybe, just maybe, if he asks the right questions, he will finally get some answers. He might actually get to see the full picture that is Louis, and not the person that Harry has painted Louis to be in his mind. Harry already has the proverbial paint thinner out, ready to toss it on that inaccurate depiction, to wash it away for good because right now, Louis is art. He is so broken. It is heartbreakingly beautiful, and Harry wants to capture it forever. He wants to paint Louis as a man, and not a monster. A vulnerable man that cries and bleeds just like Harry. 

“I didn’t kill my sister like he wanted. He- he t-told me to kill her today when we found her. H-he s-s-said if I didn’t, it could jeop-pardize the whole organization,” Louis gets out, and Harry barely understands his words. His teeth are clattering together uncontrollably, more tears falling down his cheeks with the admission. Harry’s mind flashes back to the scrapbook he had found tucked away in Louis’ drawer, the young, beautiful girl inside, and his heart breaks. 

“Shh-shh- It’s okay… You didn’t jeopardize anything, I’m sure,” Harry hushes, but Louis is sobbing now, his breaths coming out in short, sharp huffs. He has begun slamming his head against the wall again, this time much harder. Harry feels like he is going to jump out of his skin everytime Louis’ skull makes a dull thud against the shower wall. Harry continues to try to soothe him, but it’s not working. Nothing he is saying is working, so Harry does the only thing he can think to do. He takes off his socks, and climbs in the shower behind Louis. 

“I-I did!” Louis yells when Harry has both feet on the shower floor. “I-I fucked everything up. She saw me. She knows me! She is going to tell someone, and we will get caught, and the whole organization is going to be taken down because I couldn’t fucking do it. I couldn’t kill her. I was so fucking selfish. I couldn’t kill her and now we will all be punished. They will all die. I will l-lose my family all over again. I deserve it though. Just like the first time. I betrayed them, and now I will lose them, and it will be my fault. All my fault because I’m a fucking coward who couldn’t do his job.” The words are so choppy, Harry barely understands them, each one punctuated by the sound of Louis’ head hitting the tiles. 

“Hey. Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay that you didn’t kill her,” Harry soothes, sitting down behind Louis, his long legs creating a cocoon around Louis’ small, trembling body. Harry doesn't even notice that the surface of the floor is still wet, and now his clothes are soaked through. He doesn’t notice that Louis is still naked, and he is fully clothed. All he cares about is comforting the man that Harry has only known as his captor. Harry grabs Louis, pulling him back against his chest. Louis fights it for a split second before he gives in, turning his body so that his face is buried in Harry’s hoodie. 

“He told me to kill her, and I couldn’t. He’s going to kill me instead, but I don’t care. I deserve it, but I couldn’t kill her. I’m so sorry, but I couldn’t. It will be my fault when I lose them, but I couldn’t,” Louis babbles, his voice muffled by Harry’s hoodie, his small hands gripping the material, hanging on for dear life. Harry wraps his arms around Louis, attempting to calm him down by stroking his cold, wet skin, but his entire body is shaking under Harry’s fingers, as if Harry is attempting to touch something that isn’t even in the same dimension. A fuzzy depiction of something that used to be here, but is no more. 

“How will Simon find out that you let Lottie live? I don’t think Niall or any of the others will tell him,” Harry reasons, trying to use logic to get Louis to stop hyperventilating. Harry begins tracing over some of the tattoos on Louis’ arm for lack of anything better to do. Some of them are just sketches, as if Louis wanted to mark important moments in his life, but others are much more intricate. Like the compass that points to the word ‘home’. It is actually quite lovely, and the concept is very interesting now that Harry knows Louis was homeless. Harry traces over the tiny letters, suddenly wishing he could have given Louis a home. A real one. 

“They are loyal to him,” Louis answers after a few moments, probably thinking about the question. His slight body isn’t trembling as much, no longer resembling a sunflower being shaken in a summer storm. Harry decides that whatever he is doing is working, so he moves on to a different tattoo to trace, choosing the large intricate bird on his forearm. It is really well done, and Harry is starting to understand why people love tattoos. It’s just placing art on your body the same way Harry would hang art on his wall. Louis didn’t have a wall though. If something has meaning, then why not mark your body with it? 

“They are more loyal to you. They revolve around you like planets in their solar system,” Harry scoffs, completely dumbfounded by Louis’ answer. Does Louis not realize that those boys do everything he says? They would follow him off a cliff if Louis told them too, and Harry is beginning to see the appeal. Louis is so strong and sure, even when he is trembling on a shower floor and crying on Harry’s chest. He is like a beacon in a lighthouse, guiding someone to their destination. So bright, you can’t ignore it, but it hurts if you look at it for too long. Louis is magnetic. He is a leader. Everyone seems to see that but Louis. 

“I know you don’t understand, but they are my family. They are the only family I have. The first one abandoned me, and now I may lose this one,” Louis starts, sitting up to look at Harry. The only life left in his blue eyes is the dull light from unshed tears. He looks hollow and defeated. His brown hair is matted to his forehead, three day old scruff littering his cheeks. It hurts Harry to look at him, but he can’t force himself to look away. Harry wants to paint him. He wants to draw him. He wants to hang this version of Louis high in a gallery where no one can touch it because it’s raw and pure. It's the most accurate depiction of humanity Harry has ever witnessed, and his chest hurts from just the sight. Louis opens his mouth to continue, “I know you think I’m a monster, and you’re probably right…”

“No,” Harry cuts him off, shaking his head vigorously. Louis’ mouth remains open, brows drawn in confusion at Harry’s response. Before he can say anything, Harry continues, “I don’t think you’re a monster. You’re human. You cry and laugh. You have dreams and nightmares. You bleed. Monster’s don’t bleed.” Louis is shaking his head, his whole body moving with it, as he pulls away from Harry. He looks panicked again, trapped. He braces his hands on the walls of the shower to hold himself up, his body no longer supported by Harry’s. 

“No. No! I am! I am a monster. Monsters bleed. Carey’s blood was red, the same color as mine. He fucking bled on my hands today, and I didn’t feel bad about killing him for a single fucking second. I still don’t feel any sort of guilt. The bastard deserved to have his dick chopped off and shoved down his throat. I laughed while torturing the fucker. I watched the fucking light leave his eyes, and I don’t care. I don’t feel any sort of remorse for taking his life, and I would do it again! I’m a monster, Harry. Call me a fucking monster!” Louis screams, and Harry tries not to flinch at the somewhat graphic way Louis describes the scene. Louis’ arms are quaking, about to give out any second now. 

“No. You’re not a monster. I will not call you a monster again. I should have never said it in the first place. You said so yourself, there is a difference between people like you and people like Carey. I can see that now when I couldn’t before. You saved Liam when you didn’t have to. You’ve never once hurt me, even when I bashed you over the head. You wouldn’t hurt the people you love. You proved that today when you refused to kill your sister. You are not a monster, Louis,” Harry says, the last sentence firm and unwavering, but Louis continues to shake his head, droplets from his wet hair flying everywhere. One lands in Harry’s eye, but he doesn’t flinch, refusing to look away from Louis for even a second. 

“We both kill! We both do horrible, questionable things. He’s a monster, and I am as well! Call me a monster Harry! Please. Call me a fucking monster. Please. Call me what I am. I’m a fucking monster!” Louis screams, his arms finally giving out and collapsing on Harry’s chest. Harry catches him, trying to hold his writhing body still as he continues to beg Harry to call him a monster, his voice wrecked with his screams. His small fist pounds Harry’s chest, but Harry just holds him tighter, pushing his hand through Louis’ wet hair. Louis begins bawling again, repeating incoherent words and phrases as he cries. 

Harry has no idea how long they stay like that, Louis crying while begging Harry to call him a monster. It’s like he needs confirmation to hate himself, but Harry refuses to give him that. Harry has tried hating Louis, almost succeeded, but over the past few days he realizes he can’t. He can’t hate Louis, and Harry isn’t sure what to do with that information. He pushes it to the back of his mind, gently rocking the smaller man as he cries. Eventually Louis’ sobs quieten to hiccups, his fist now clenching Harry’s hoodie instead of beating against his chest. He is trembling again, and Harry thinks it may be a good idea to get him out of the shower and into a warmer environment. Harry himself is freezing, his clothes soaked from Louis’ body and the walls of the shower and floor surrounding him. 

Harry doesn’t say anything as he gathers Louis’ in his arms, standing up carefully, doing his best not to fall. He doesn't want either of them to get hurt tonight. Louis seems to be hurting enough for the both of them, and he still feels like Louis is keeping something from him. It couldn’t have been Simon’s orders to kill his sister alone that sent him over the edge. Harry contemplates this as he carries Louis into the bedroom, Louis’ slender arms wrapping securely around his neck. Louis is mostly dry now, so Harry pulls back the duvet on Louis’ bed, revealing a clean white sheet. He averts his eyes as to try not to look at Louis’ naked body as he lays him down, covering his nudity a moment later. 

Harry goes back into the bathroom, reaching to turn off the light before he pauses. Louis’ jeans are lying on the floor holding the means of Harry’s escape. Harry stares at them for a second, glancing back at Louis laying in his bed, curled up so tightly, Harry doesn’t know if he will ever come undone. He looks back at the jeans, contemplating leaving like Louis told him. Louis has calmed down a lot now. He’s not even crying, so Harry wouldn’t be leaving him in a fragile state. He could escape, then find Liam at a later time. Instead, Harry turns off the light, shutting the door behind him. Harry looks at Louis one last time before he turns to leave. 

“Stay,” the simple, raspy word has Harry frozen. His heart though, his heart is very much alive and beating rapidly within the confines of his chest. Harry turns to find Louis staring at him, his eyes reflecting in the low lamp light of the room. The life is back in them, and Harry feels a strange sense of relief. He still looks tired, his face almost droopy, as if the day itself is weighing on his cheeks. Harry opens his mouth, and closes it, unsure of how to respond. Instead, Louis speaks again, “I-I don’t want to be alone.” 

Shattered. Harry’s heart shatters with the admission, tiny pieces litter the floor like confetti composed of isolation and heartache. Louis’ eyes are vulnerable as he bites his lip, looking as though he regrets his words. He fiddles with the duvet, fingers picking at an invisible piece of thread. Harry understands the desolation that comes with loneliness. Before Harry can reconsider, he is nodding his head and stripping his clothes. A few moments later, he climbs into the bed with Louis wearing only his underwear. 

He is acutely aware that Louis is naked in the bed beside him, and Harry tells himself this means nothing. It’s just a means to halt the detachment they feel when being alone in their own beds, the isolation Harry has felt for the past few years. The two men just stare at each other for a few moments, neither sure of what the other wants or needs. Harry does know his cock is twitching in his underwear just from being so impossibly close to such a gorgeous man. 

Louis slowly reaches out, his fingers grazing over Harry’s face. Harry doesn't flinch this time. He doesn't even consider the fact that those fingers were covered in blood hours prior. He doesn't care that they were because deep down inside, Harry has forgiven Louis for all of his crimes. He just refuses to admit that out loud yet. Louis' hands can bring both pleasure and pain. Harry has felt the pleasure first hand, but has never been a part of the pain. Louis has never hurt Harry. In fact, Harry is the one that physically hurt Louis when he tried to escape. 

“I don’t know if anyone has ever told you this, but your face and body create the most amazing shapes and angles. The juxtaposition of light and shadow is just so beautiful,” Harry whispers, eyes grazing over Louis’ naked body. Light interacts with Louis’ body differently than it does other objects. It’s almost as if light turns to water, flowing over the contours of his body instead of bouncing off it. Perhaps that is how light behaves with light, but Harry has never seen anything like it in all of his years studying art. 

“No. Umm… no one has ever told me that,” Louis responds, voice just as low. Harry thinks he is blushing, but it is hard to see in the dim light of the room. A small smile is playing on his firm lips, the three-day old stubble on his jaw pulling into it. Light is filtering through Louis’ long eyelashes, the freckles on his cheeks dancing in the shadow that they are creating. Harry can’t stop himself, he reaches out to trace the shadows, starting with one under Louis’ sharp cheekbone. He almost expects his finger to disappear into the dark abyss that has been created by light, but it doesn’t. He feels the stubble, the muscle of Louis’ jaw twitching under his finger. 

“I guess they don’t appreciate art then,” Harry remarks, his finger tracing down to Louis’ collarbones, running it over the highest point where the light is the brightest. He then moves his finger further into the darkness, the dip of his collarbone where no light can penetrate. Harry almost feels as though he is pressing his finger into a black hole, so dark and captivating. Everything about Louis is a harsh contrast between light and dark, shadows making up his entire being. Louis lives life in the shadows. Some parts of him are bright, alight with something so pure and beautiful it will burn retinas when stared at for too long, while other parts are so dark and mysterious, you find yourself getting lost in their abyss. 

“Art is overrated,” Louis says with a small smile. Harry notices how close Louis is to him now, their faces only a few inches apart as they both lean on one bent arm. Harry’s fingers still continue to skim over Louis’ body like a canvas, wanting to feel the brushstrokes that created him. Louis’ hand has somehow begun cupping Harry’s jaw, and Harry leans into the touch. That hand was covered in blood hours ago, and Harry can’t bring himself to care. Instead of pulling away from it, he nuzzles into it. 

Harry’s middle finger is now tracing the scripted text on Louis’ collarbones, words the other man had said not even an hour ago. Harry now understands why Louis got the phrase inked into his body. It seems to be the motto he lives his life by. Suddenly Harry realizes that Louis’ tattoos are the same as Harry decorating his house with artwork. Harry buys art because it’s important to him, it makes him feel something about a place, a person, or even a moment. Louis does the same with his tattoos. His body is his walls, and Harry sort of wants to take him apart. Harry decides to voice his recent realization, nodding down to Louis’ chest, “You have art all over your body.” 

“Those are just tattoos,” Louis responds, eyes not leaving Harry’s, even for a second. They are bright, even in the shadows of the room, almost as if they are lit from within. Louis licks his lips, leaning even closer to Harry. The moment feels intimate somehow, even though they haven’t done a single thing. They’re just talking, their whispered voices floating over each other's face as if the very walls are attempting to listen to their secrets. They could be. Harry has never considered the possibility that Simon could have Louis’ home bugged. 

“They are an expression of yourself through art. Instead of hanging it in a gallery or on someone’s wall, you etch it into your skin. It’s still art, though. It still makes people feel,” Harry points out, his voice deep even to his own ears. Louis’ eyes remind Harry of universes, swirling stars in the cosmos that Harry is floating amongst. It feels as though time is made of molasses, slowing down to the point where Harry is having trouble moving within its confines, or even breathing. 

“How do they make you feel?” Louis asks, his lips so close to Harry’s he feels them move as they form the words. Harry thinks about the question, not expecting Louis to ask. Harry has always hated tattoos, to an extent. He felt they were for prisoners, and if anyone got one, it should be small and used to mark a moment. Louis has many, but maybe he has had a lot of moments worth remembering. Harry doesn’t feel like he has any except one, but he thinks he can change that. 

“Free,” Harry whispers, closing the short distance between their lips. He doesn't know why he chose that word, but he realizes he has never felt free his entire life. He has always felt shackled in some way, whether it be by his parents or his wealth or his loneliness. He has all of the money he needs at his disposal, but he has never once felt free. Strangely enough though, in this moment, Harry does feel free, even though he has been imprisoned. Louis gave him the choice to leave, though. He told him exactly how to do it, but Harry chose not to. He is in Louis’ bed as a free man, not as a prisoner. 

Louis licks the seam of Harry’s mouth a moment later, Harry parts his lips, allowing Louis entrance. The kiss is soft, nothing like the one they shared in the kitchen just a few days ago. That one was full of an angry fire that can only be found in hell. This one has a different kind of heat, like kissing the surface of the sun. Louis moans into his mouth, the sound going straight to Harry’s cock, which has been slowly getting harder. The stubble around Louis’ mouth feels devine as it scratches Harry’s chin and cheeks. 

“Harry,” Louis murmurs between soft kisses, his small fingers gripping Harry’s jaw to keep him close. Louis begins squirming, attempting to close the distance between their bodies. Harry hooks his hand around Louis’ slim waist, lifting him easily. He pulls the smaller man on top of him, spreading his own legs for Louis’ to lay between them. Harry hisses when he feels Louis’ naked dick against his own clothed one, his mind flashing back to the night they got off with each other on the couch. 

“Please,” Is all Harry can manage between pants as Louis deepens their kiss, a certain desperation in the way his tongue prods Harry's mouth as it battles for dominance. Harry’s hands are on Louis’ bare hips, fingers splayed over the small of his back. Louis begins moving his hips, causing Harry’s hands to travel further down. Harry moans when his hands cup the globes of Louis’ ass, causing Louis’ hips to to stutter. 

“What do you want?” Louis asks, his whole body stopping. He props himself on his hands, one on either side of Harry’s head to look down at him with wide, honest eyes. Harry takes a few deep breaths, trying to pull himself out of the bubble they created to think about this logically. What does he want? It feels like a loaded question because Harry wants a lot of things, but they seem to constantly change. He knows what he wanted before all of this. He wanted a career. He wanted to know his place in the world. He wanted to know who he was. He feels as though he is slowly starting to figure those things out, but he knows one thing for certain. 

“I don’t know what I want other than you in me. I-I don’t want to be so lonely anymore,” Harry admits, whispering the last confession like he would a sin, except Louis isn’t a priest. Louis is the opposite of a holy man, yet Harry finds himself confessing his deepest secrets to him. Harry tries to blink away his tears, but he thinks one slips down his cheek. He is just so tired of always being alone, not having a place in the world or people who love him. Louis would never judge him though because he feels the same way. He asked Harry to stay for a reason. So maybe they can be lonely together for the night. Maybe the isolation that has settled itself deep within Harry’s being will be chased away even if it’s only briefly. 

Louis’ expression is unreadable, and Harry briefly wishes he could take the confession back as the tear falls down onto the pillow. Louis probably thinks he is so stupid for being lonely. He could literally buy friends if he needed to, but Harry has never wanted that. He just wants people to like him for who he is, not the wealth he brings along with him. With Louis staring down at him, his eyes so wide and blue, Harry feels vulnerable, as if he is being studied. He never considered the idea that Louis could like him as a person. At first, it was obvious that Louis hated him, and Harry felt the same about Louis. Opinions seem to change, and for some reason, Harry finds himself hoping Louis genuinely likes him. He doesn’t want Louis to see him as a spoiled brat anymore. 

“I know you feel like you’ve been alone for a while. It’s okay. You don’t have to be alone. I can’t promise forever, but I can promise you the night,” Louis says, using the pad of his thumb to wipe away the residue from the tear. He then leans down to kiss Harry softly on the lips. Harry almost feels relieved. He had some strange fear that Louis was going to tell him to leave because of his admission and the sadness that came with it. Harry sometimes feels like he is not allowed to be sad because he has everything he needs. That he shouldn’t feel lonely when he is surrounded by things, but that’s simply not true. Louis’ answer and the gentle way that he is kissing him makes Harry feel validated. 

Harry deepens the kiss, pouring his emotions and desperation into it. Louis’ hands find their way to his boxers, smoothly slipping them off under the sheets. Without breaking their hungry kisses, Louis reaches into the bedside table, and Harry glances over to find lube and a condom in Louis’ hand. Harry moans at the sight, his cock so hard, he feels like he can’t breathe. Louis breaks their kiss, looking down at Harry in a silent question. “Please,” Harry whimpers, and he doesn't really know what he is saying. It is definitely an answer to Louis' silent question, but it feels like so much more. Maybe he is asking for the night, perhaps longer. 

____________

“Okay. It’s alright. I’ll take care of you, princess,” Louis murmurs, looking down at Harry’s shiny green eyes. He doesn't know exactly why Harry is tearful, but he thinks it may have something to do with the words Harry admitted to him. It’s something Louis already knew. Something they had discussed, but it felt like the first time Harry had really said it out loud. He’s lonely. Louis is too, so maybe they aren't that different after all. Harry looks perfect in the soft light, his hair curling on the white pillow behind him. His lips are red, as if he has been chewing on them, or perhaps it’s from Louis’ kisses. Louis leans down to kiss him again because he can’t stop himself. 

“It’s been a while,” Harry confesses, his cheeks flaring red when Louis brings the lube and condom closer to them. He didn’t need to say that because Louis had assumed it’s been a while, but it was nice that Harry felt comfortable enough to tell him. Louis feels butterflies erupt in his stomach, his heart beating rapidly in his chest, as if the butterflies are fluttering there as well. He feels like a virgin again because he doesn't want to fuck this up. He has put Harry through enough, but he wants to make this good for him. Louis wants to give Harry at least one good thing to remember him by before he’s gone, and Louis has to disappear. 

“Okay. I’ll go slow. Tell me if it hurts or you change your mind, and I’ll stop,” Louis promises, uncapping the bottle, the clicking sound echoing throughout the otherwise quiet of the room. He looks down at Harry to find him nodding with wide eyes, the green almost completely gone, replaced by blown pupils. Louis squeezes some lube on his fingers, gliding it around a bit to warm it up. He moves the duvet with his clean hand, looking down to find Harry is placing a pillow under his hips, spreading his long legs. When Louis sees something on one of the milky thighs, his eyebrows hit his hairline in surprise. “Why Harold. Has the princess been hiding artwork from me?” 

“What?” Harry asks, confusion marring his beautiful features. Louis nods his head down towards Harry’s thigh, a smirk drawing at his lips. Harry looks down, eyes becoming wide a few seconds later. “Oh. Umm… yeah. I got that while I was in Brazil on a modeling shoot. I thought, since it was my first big moment, I’d wanted to remember it. I sometimes forget I have it. I was actually sort of drunk when I got it done,” Harry explains, his voice sheepish and his cheeks red. Louis traces the letters of the tattoo on Harry’s pale skin with a finger. He would have never though Harry, pretty-proper-princess-Harry, would have a secret tattoo on his thigh. It makes his dick twitch. 

“I like it,” Louis responds, stroking a thumb over the word. While Harry is distracted by the conversation, Louis chooses that moment to trace his puckered hole with a lubed up finger. Harry’s eyes widen in surprise, and Louis would laugh if he didn’t find the man so incredibly sexy. After the initial shock is over from the unexpected touch, Harry’s pouty lips form a small ‘o’, and Louis thinks it's a good thing. Harry hasn’t voiced anything negative, so Louis keeps doing it. Getting the area nice and wet before he presses a finger in. He looks up, wanting to see Harry’s reaction. 

“Oh fu…” the curse word trails off on Harry’s red bitten lips. Louis has never heard him curse, and it may now be Louis’ goal to have Harry forget himself so completely that he curses. He wants to watch prim and proper Harry come undone on his dick. Louis thinks it’s important to have goals, even if they do involve someone he may never see again after the next day or so. Louis pushes that unpleasant thought from his mind, wanting to concentrate on the moment. He doesn't want to think about everything that has happened or will happen, he just wants to feel Harry. He wants to taste him through his fingertips. 

“Relax, love,” Louis says softly, pushing his finger the rest of the way in. He bends down, kissing Harry gently on the lips. His mouth is open but quickly shifts to receive Louis’ kiss, returning it after a brief moment. Louis is careful to avoid touching Harry’s dick, not wanting the other man to come too soon. Harry hisses when Louis’ dick grazes his own, and Louis barely bites back a moan. It’s been a long time for him as well. 

“Another,” Harry moans out after a few minutes of Louis fucking him with a single finger. Louis gives him a look, a silent question. Harry nods, mouth open in bliss. He looks down, carefully adding another, stretching his hole. When Harry hisses, Louis stops for a second, looking up to gauge Harry’s level of pain. Harry is looking up at the ceiling, his strong jaw pointed towards the heavens, but Louis can tell his mouth is open, even from this angle. Noticing Louis has stopped, Harry’s eyes find him, confused. He then begins grinding his hips down on Louis fingers, pressing the heels of his feet into the mattress as leverage. 

“Fuck, Harry. You look so fucking hot grinding on my fingers,” Louis mumbles, more to himself than to anyone, but Harry obviously heard it because he wimpers, pushing his hips down further to get Louis in deeper. Louis just watches, keeping his arm completely still, wanting Harry to work for it, and he does. “Can’t wait to see you grinding on my dick, Princess.” Louis has no idea why he keeps calling him princess. He has been calling him that since their very first encounter though, and it has somehow stuck. He meant it as insult at first, but now he seems to be using it as a pet name. Harry doesn’t seem to mind anymore, not telling Louis to stop. In fact, every time Louis uses the term of endearment, Harry moans or whimpers in response. 

“Louis. Need. Please. Need,” Harry whines in broken English, but Louis gets the gist. Without breaking Harry’s rhythm, Louis begins scissoring his fingers, adding more lube in the process. Once he feels comfortable enough, he adds a third, crooking them at a few different angles. He knows he hits Harry’s spot when a deep moan is ripped from Harry’s chest, almost animalistic. It feels like an out of body experience, watching Harry moan and writhe on just his fingers. He didn’t realize Harry could be this wanton in bed, but Louis is learning to not judge a book by it’s cover or however the saying goes.

“Are you ready for my dick?” Louis asks after a few minutes, watching his fingers disappear over and over again into Harry’s wet heat. He thinks the other man is stretched enough so that Louis won’t hurt him, but he wants Harry to confirm this. He tears his eyes away from Harry’s hole long enough to see him nodding, his eyes blown and curls sticking up in all different directions. Louis kisses him because he can’t think of a single other thing he would rather do in that moment. He kisses him hard, their teeth clacking together. Harry’s arms loop around Louis’ neck, bringing him down on top of him, their dicks pressing together. Louis can’t stop his hips from bucking into the sensation, his dick throbbing with the needed friction. 

“Yes. fu- yes. Please. Need it. Now,” Harry moans into Louis’ open mouth, and Louis wants to smile. Harry almost slipped again, and Louis finds it incredibly sexy. He bets Harry would have a dirty mouth if he would let himself go a bit, if he’d stop constantly thinking about what he wants to say and what is proper. Sex is about feeling, not about thinking. Harry shouldn’t censor himself in bed, and Louis wishes he wouldn’t censor himself so much in life. He wonders who Harry really is and not the facade he puts out into the world. 

“Okay, Princess. Shh. It’s okay. I’ll give you what you need,” Louis responds, breaking their kiss to reach for the condom. Harry watches him with wide eyes as he opens the packet with his teeth, spitting the tiny piece of foil to the side. He doesn't even care where it lands. With shaky, rushed hands, he rolls the condom down his length, hissing when he pumps his hard dick twice, looking at Harry’s now stretched hole with hungry eyes. He lines himself up, and begins pressing in. Harry is incredibly hot and tight, so it takes every bit of Louis’ willpower to not immediately start bucking his hips to seek more. 

“Slowslowslow,” Harry chants, eyes shut and chin tilted up. Louis grits his teeth, the head of his dick finally slipping past Harry’s tight ring of muscle. He slowly pushes himself inside, inch by excruciating inch, until his hips meets Harry’s soft ass. Harry is still so tight, Louis briefly worries he is going to cut off the circulation to his dick. 

“You’re so tight, Princess, it feels so good, but you need to relax. I want this to be good for you,” Louis says, tracing his thumb over Harry’s plump lips. Harry puckers them, kissing the pad. Louis smiles at the soft gesture, leaning down to capture those very same lips in a kiss that is just as soft. Louis slips his tongue inside his mouth, traveling his hands down Harry’s neck then his collarbones, finally landing on his nipples. Harry moans deep when Louis tweeks one, flicking it with a blunt fingernail a few seconds later. Louis continues kissing him, playing with his nipples. It’s wet and sloppy and absolutely perfect. It also does what he intended, Harry loosening around him with each swipe of Louis’ tongue, each movement of his fingers. 

“Oh my god. Sh- Louis move. Please,” Harry moans, breaking their kiss long enough to get the words out. Louis almost denies him because he wants Harry to let his walls come down. He wants him to succumb to their pleasure and say exactly what  _ he  _ wants without a filter. Louis decides to save that for later mostly because the idea of not moving actually hurts Louis’ dick. He needs to move. He needs to buck into Harry’s waiting heat because Harry being all around him is maddening. 

“Holy fucking hell,” Louis curses with the first shallow thrust because those are the only words that are currently coming to his mind besides the need to pound into Harry. He won’t though. Not yet. Harry told him it has been a while, and he will respect that. He will not hurt Harry. He’s hurt enough people in his lifetime, but Harry will not be counted among them. He doesn't think he could live with himself if he adds the innocent man underneath him to his ever growing list. So Louis leans down, kissing him while his hips deliberately move to the rhythm of a slow song neither of them hear but both feel. 

“Fu- Faster. Oh my sh-God, faster please,” Harry moans, his eyes closed in bliss instead of pain. His body has relaxed, finally adjusting to Louis’ dick, and each deep, gravely moan that is pulled from Harry’s kiss bitten lips is a victory for Louis. He wants Harry to enjoy this. He wants to bring someone pleasure today, someone worthy of it. He has had enough violence, enough sadness, enough fighting to last a lifetime. He just wants to give pleasure, and get it in return even though he may not be deserving of it. Louis pushes that thought from his mind, doing as Harry asked and moving his hips faster, building up a steady rhythm. 

“Ride me?” Louis asks, mid thrust. He doesn't know where the sudden desire to have Harry on top of him came from, but he can’t seem to push it from his mind. He glances down to find Harry unsure. He rushes to say that Harry doesn’t have to if he is uncomfortable, but Harry begins nodding, cheeks red. Louis isn’t sure if the other man is embarrassed or if they are just flushed from their new level of activity. “Are you sure? I’m fine to keep doing this. You feel so fucking good.” Louis puts as much honesty in his voice as possible, trying to convey to Harry that he is literally fine with whatever. Harry could tell him to stop and he would, even though his dick pouts at the very idea. Do dicks pout? 

“Yeah. I’m sure. I’ve just never ridden anyone before. When I’ve bottomed, we mostly just did this position,” Harry admits, voice barely above a whisper. He is embarrassed, but Louis finds himself not surprised. Harry didn’t strike him as the kind of person that experimented with different positions, and he doubts Harry has had that many partners in his life. He doesn't care, but it makes sense for this to be new for him. Louis nods once, wrapping an arm around Harry’s waist. He hoists Harry up, flipping their positions without slipping out. Louis doesn’t know how he managed the smoothness of the move, and makes a mental note to send a fruit basket to what ever God of sex was smiling down on him in that moment. 

“You’re in control. You set the pace and the rhythm. You fuck me how you want,” Louis tells him, smiling. He watches Harry’s reaction to the words, can almost see his mind moving as he processes them, and Louis, for some reason, thinks they may turn him on. Harry hasn’t had much control over his life as of late, so Louis wants to give him this. Maybe Harry will take all of his frustrations out on Louis’ dick. Fuck, Louis hopes so. Harry could break his dick while riding him as long as he continues to bounce that perky little ass.

“What if I just wanna tease you?” Harry asks, bracing himself on his hands and lifting his hips up so that only the head of Louis’ dick is left inside. Louis eyes roll back into his head, and barely resist the urge to buck up, wanting that tight heat back. Louis hisses when Harry just leaves himself there, hovering above him. Louis knows he asked for this, but it’s so damn hot he feels like he is burning alive. 

“If that’s what the princess wants,” Louis quips, seeing if the nickname will make Harry angry and spur him to move. He notices that his hands that are resting on Harry’s hips are gripping him tightly, marks created beneath the pads of his fingers. Louis forces himself to loosen the grip, deciding instead to rub them up and down Harry’s milky white thighs. He traces the tattoo again with the pad of his thumb, still in shock that it’s there. 

“What does the monster want?” Harry asks, and Louis' heart skips a beat at the mention of that word. Harry is looking at him, a challenge twinkling in his green eyes. Louis’ mind goes back to the shower stall as he begged Harry to call him a monster, to call him what he is. Harry has used that word to describe him before, but in the shower Harry didn’t. He refused, until now, but there was almost a playfulness to his tone. Louis feels like it's a test, and he didn’t study. 

“This is a tale about the beauty and not the beast,” Louis finally responds as Harry begins tracing the tattoos on Louis’ chest. He seems to like the script tattoo, his long fingers ghosting over the letters every few seconds before they start back at the beginning. It would be relaxing if Louis’ dick wasn’t throbbing as Harry continues to hover above him, barely allowing Louis to be inside him. 

“The beast gets a happy ending as well, right?” Harry asks, the playful tone attached to the end of each letter a direct contrast to the slow seductiveness each word is coated in. Louis feels like the letters themselves are sticking to his skin, sweet and thick, never to leave his body no matter how much he scrubs, like a tattoo with ink made of honey imprinted in his skin with an enchanted needle. 

“I hope,” Louis responds, allowing sadness to lace the phrase. Harry smiles down at him, then Louis forgets every single thing they had just said, jesus fucking christ, he forgets his name even because Harry lowers himself on Louis’ dick until he is firmly seated. He pauses, tracing a scar on Louis' left bicep. Louis has scars all over his body from years of abuse. He is lucky he isn’t dead, to be honest. 

“He does. He becomes a man, and he is happy. Turns out the beast was human all along,” Harry says, and it feels like more than the recounting of a fairytale however Louis barely hears the words. White hot jolts of pleasure begin rocking his system, each one stronger than the last. Harry is just grinding; it shouldn’t be life changing. It shouldn’t shatter his world, but Louis feels like all he can do is hang on to the scattered pieces as they make their way through the galaxy, becoming stardust. 

“Then that’s what the monster wants. He wants to be human,” Louis finally responds, through gritted teeth, as pleasure continues to break the bonds of his very DNA, collapsing the structure to nothing but smoldering ashes. Every molecule in his body feels like it is on fire, tiny volcanoes taking over on a microscopic level. 

Harry leans down, continuing the slow grind of his hips. His pretty red lips are only inches away from Louis’ as he looks deeply into his eyes. The end of his curls are glowing in the low light, like Louis would imagine the halo atop an angel’s head would glow if Louis believed in those sorts of things. “He already is,” Harry whispers, each word ghosting over Louis’ lips like a physical entity. Louis doesn’t have a moment to think because Harry’s lips come crashing down on his own, capturing them in a kiss that adds more heat to the already burning atoms that are making up his body. 

“Harry. Fuck. Oh my god. Fuck,” Louis gets out between labored breaths as Harry continues the grind of his hips, his rhythm much faster now. If Harry hadn’t admitted this was his first time being on top, Louis would have never known. Harry is a natural, his body’s rhythm seemingly made for sex. He knows how to move, and all Louis can do is hang on and pray that the pieces of his shitty existence somehow lands among the stars when all of this is over. 

“Not gonna last long,” Harry warns, and Louis is right there with him. He feels like his dick is seconds from exploding, but he wants to get Harry there first. When Louis reaches between their bodies, Harry sits up on his haunches, changing his movements. He is no longer grinding, instead electing to impale himself on Louis’ dick every few seconds. The alteration has Louis’ eyes rolling back in his head and his hand forgetting everything it was about to do. 

“Just like that Harry. Oh fuck. Feels so good on my dick. So good, princess. Shit,” Louis rambles, and Harry screams when Louis’ hand finally wraps around his dick. Louis makes quick work of thumbing the moisture that has gathered at the tip, helping with the glide as he begins stroking Harry’s hard shaft. He matches his rhythm to the punishing beat of Harry’s hips as he begins to pound down on Louis, taking exactly what he needs. Louis knows he is hitting Harry spot every time because Harry’s hole actually tightens around Louis’ dick when it happens. It’s bliss. 

“Louis, please. Please. Need. Oh god. Fu- Please. Right there. Just like that. Don’t stop. Oh my god. Gonna,” Harry moans, words coming out much faster than Louis has ever heard. Louis doesn’t even care about his previous goal of wanting Harry to forget himself. His only goal now is to make Harry come before he does, and he is dangerously close to his own orgasm. He can feel the muscles in his thigh twitch in warning.

“Come on, Princess. Come for me. Wanna taste it,” Louis says, and Harry eyes widen at that. He comes just a moment later. His hips stalling as jet after jet of hot come lands on Louis’ chest and stomach, branding him. Louis doesn’t care that Harry has stopped moving because his hole is squeezing his dick with each release, begging him to come too. Louis holds off, wanting to see Harry in bliss. His whole body is shaking with his orgasm, eyes going wide for a split second before they close in relief. 

Harry’s eyes pop back open when Louis’ fingers swipe through the substance that was just released from Harry’s body. It is warm and sticky, and Louis wasn’t lying when he said he wanted to taste it. Harry watches with wide eyes as Louis’ glides his own fingers into his mouth, licking the come off them slowly before pushing them the rest of the way in. It’s a mixture of bitter and sweet, like salt sprinkled on a watermelon during a hot summer day. Louis moans, closing his eyes for a second. When he opens them, Harry’s mouth is gaping in shock, so Louis does it again. 

“Fuck,” Harry moans, leaning down on his elbows and fucking himself on Louis’s dick hard and fast. Louis doesn’t even think about the fact that Harry finally cussed. Harry lost his filter, and Louis isn’t even smiling because he is coming undone at the seams. Nothing will be able to keep him together after this, and he will never ever be the same. Harry kisses Louis, tasting himself on Louis’ mouth, and Louis is slipping further. They continue their sloppy kisses as Harry’s hips bring him closer and closer to the edge. 

“Close,” Louis gets out between kisses, one hand tangled in Harry’s curls while the other is resting on his ass as he impales himself. He has to be oversensitive by now, having just come but he keeps going. Louis’ fingers grip Harry, holding on for dear life as he finally topples over the edge of the cliff, falling into some dark abyss where he hopes nothing will find him. He is pretty sure he actually sees galaxies of long forgotten worlds colliding before his eyes as Harry works him through his orgasm, one shallow thrust at a time. 

When he finishes, Harry collapses on top of him, what’s left of his come smearing between them. They are both breathing heavily, feeling as though the moment is dangling on a fraying string. They are waiting to crash. For reality to check them back into existence. For Louis, it comes with remembering that Harry won’t be in his life longer than absolutely necessary. As soon as Harry’s parents pay his ransom, then Harry will go back to them. He will go back to his life of luxury. He will go back to fancy hotel rooms with their mini bars. He will travel in expensive cars or private planes where he will drink the best champagne and forget he ever met someone like Louis. He will immerse himself in that, and Louis will be living the same life. The same life that Harry became a part of even if it was for a brief amount of time. It won't be as easy for Louis to forget Harry when he already looks like he belongs in his house. 

Louis pushes that thought from his mind, refusing to think about it tonight. He has had enough melancholy. He hisses when Harry slowly pushes himself off, his soft dick slipping out of the other man. Harry just rolls to the side, making no move to leave, and Louis is ridiculously thankful. Louis takes off the condom, tying it off and throwing it in the garbage can beside his bed. He doesn't want to move much more, and Harry seems to be on the same page, his body starfished next to him in the king sized bed. Louis grabs a random item of clothing on the floor, wiping off both of their chest. 

Louis then turns off the lamp on his side of the bed, leaning over Harry’s body to turn off the one on the other night stand. When the room is in complete darkness, Louis begins to go back to his side of the bed, but is stopped by two strong arms. Harry doesn’t say anything as he pulls Louis to him, and Louis goes willingly. He lays on Harry’s chest, warm under the covers, listening to his heart beat, the gentle cadence of his breathing making his eyes heavy. He is glad they aren’t talking, Louis is tired of talking. He just wants to lay with Harry. 

It dawns on Louis that he feels safe for the first time since he was a young child. He never realized exactly how unsafe he felt before until this very moment, as the unknown sensation wraps around Louis’ body like a warm blanket. Just like a home, sometimes safety isn’t in a place but in a person. It’s in arms that you feel. A smile that you taste. Eyes that you see. Skin that you smell. A heartbeat that you hear. It may only be for a short time, but Louis is safe. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know... nine chapters is a lot to wait for some actual smut but.... see... not a cliffhanger... this time


	10. Cocaine and Abel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry finally gets his facial, and Simon has news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really have much to say..... have fun! 
> 
> A quick thank my two betas, Dana and Linda, for reading this fic and putting up with my constant questioning of my sanity. This one was hard, even for them, so a huge thank you is in order. They are amazing friends, and I love them dearly. 
> 
> If you're interested in supporting me as a writer, please look at my [author website](https://lmarcherofficial.com/%20rel=). 
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_I'm not proud of all the choices I've made for a lot of my life  
_ _Following the shadow when I damn well know that behind me is the light- Amigo the Devil_

Harry wakes up to sunlight filtering through an unfamiliar room, his head rising and falling with the rhythm of whatever it’s resting on. Memories from last night come rushing back, slicing through the sunlight. The bitter smell of Carey’s blood as it dried on Louis’ clothes when he came home. The image of Louis curled into a ball, rocking back and forth as he bawled on the shower floor. Louis’ haunting screams as he begged to be called a monster. The taste of Louis’ lips while he slowly spread him open, finally knowing him. Then the feeling of being wanted pushing away the isolation Harry has become accustomed to throughout his entire life. 

Harry is laying on Louis’ chest, the smattering of hair there tickling his nose. He looks up to find sunlight streaking across Louis’ face. His hair is messy with sleep, matted on one side. A tattooed arm is covering his eyes, but Harry can still see long eyelashes grazing his freckled cheeks, the line of stubble starting right below. He looks peaceful like this and, not for the first time, Harry wishes he could sketch him. His eyes rove over Louis' body, wanting to look at him in the light of the day and not under the shroud of darkness that happened the night before. It still feels like a dream. 

Harry’s eyes travel all over Louis’ torso, finding it covered in not only tattoos, but also scars. Some are lighter than others, as if they are older. Harry pushes the covers down a bit more to get a better look. He reaches out to trace one, not being able to stop himself. There is just something incredibly sexy about them, and Harry’s cock twitches between the sheets. The touch must wake Louis, his eyelashes beginning to flutter, the arm resting on Harry’s shoulder twitching in alertness. He moves his hand away, blue eyes cracking open in the next second. 

“Do you ever want out of this life?” Harry asks, not being able to stop the question from tumbling out of his mouth. Louis blinks a few times, looking down towards Harry. If Harry’s breath leaves him at the sight, then that is neither here nor there. Harry’s chin is propped up on Louis pectoral muscle, his head slowly rising and falling with Louis’ breath. He is still absentmindedly tracing some of the scars littering Louis’ torso, simply because he can’t seem to stop himself. 

“I um…” Louis falters, and Harry can tell he isn’t sure if he wants to answer the question. Not for the first time, Harry finds himself wishing he could read Louis’ mind. At least he finally seems to be getting more than one word answers from him. “This is all I’ve ever known, so that’s difficult to answer. It’s not as simple as walking away. I know too much. He would put a hit out on me in a matter of seconds. I would spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder, waiting for a sniper’s round. What kind of life is that? I could never have a family.” 

“Do you want a family?” Harry asks, curiosity lacing the question. He has been wondering that since he found out Louis was homeless when he was younger. He must yearn for a family of his own, but how does that factor into the dangerous lifestyle he lives? Harry couldn’t imagine trying to raise a family around all of that violence, but Harry himself also wants a family. He has already made a promise to his future children to not ignore them like he was ignored. 

“I’ve wanted one since I was 14 and homeless. My family didn’t want me anymore, so I desperately wanted to create my own. One that would love me and want me. I realized that a home isn’t really just a place, but it’s people. It’s a person that you build your life with. I didn’t have that for a while, until Simon found me,” Louis explains, tracing patterns into the comforter draping across Harry’s wide shoulders. Harry can’t tell what he is drawing, but it feels like scribbles. 

“Then they became your family,” Harry finishes, already knowing what Louis is going to say. Louis shakes his head though, and Harry brows crease together in confusion before he looks down, tracing another scar. Harry can’t seem to stop himself, his fingers moving without his command. Louis is just so beautiful, his body is made to be drawn. Louis takes a deep breath, Harry’s body easily moving with it. He drops his head to the side, listening to Louis’ heartbeat for a few moments before he rights it again. 

“It’s still not really the same,” Louis starts, letting out the breath he was holding in a whoosh that makes Harry’s hair flutter. “They are loyal to me. They love me. I have a roof over my head and food because of the organization, but some days I still feel so homeless. It feels as though everything around me is fluid, constantly moving and on the verge of slipping through my fingers. Nothing is solid or stable, and I may fall at any moment. It’s like standing on the ground in the middle of an earthquake.” 

Harry’s eyes cast down, his next question popping into his mind. He’s not sure if he wants to ask it, though. He doesn’t want Louis to take it the wrong way, but Louis doesn’t seem angry with the current conversation, just a bit uneasy. He has been curious about Louis since the moment he met him, and denying that curiosity now just seems wrong. Especially when Louis is finally being forthcoming with information. He just wants to  _ know  _ him. Harry takes a deep breath, and asks, “Do you ever wish your life would have gone differently? Like do you ever wish you made different choices?” 

“At first I did. When my dad kicked me out, I regretted them ever finding out about my sexuality. I regretted being gay, and not like, fighting my urges I guess. Then I realized there wasn’t a point in regretting it. What’s done is done. It is what it is, you know? I know I’ve done some fucked up things. I can’t say I’m proud of the choices I’ve made, but I’m also alive because of them. I try not to dwell on what ifs. It just becomes exhausting. The choices I’ve made are mine. The shit I’ve done is fucked up, but I’ve mostly come to terms with it,” Louis answers, and Harry isn’t sure how to respond. Louis says he has come to terms with it, but last night spoke differently. 

“Look umm…” Louis starts, his tone hesitant and unsure. He clears his throat, looking down to pick at a piece of loose thread on the comforter. He can’t seem to look Harry in the eyes. He is clearly nervous about what he is going to say, his movement stiff and jerky. Harry wants to comfort him, so he reaches for Louis’ hand, holding it on top of the comforter. “I’m um… I’m really sorry for what happened last night. It’s not like me to lose control like that. I honestly didn’t think you would even find me. That’s why I went to the shower. I was just gonna have a good cry then go to bed alone to cry some more. I would have gotten over it eventually, picked myself up. 

“It’s okay. I’m actually kind of glad I found you. You don’t always have to pick yourself up. Others can help you, sometimes,” Harry starts, looking up at the other man. Louis’ eyes are still cast down, shadows from his eyelashes dancing on his cheeks. Before Louis can comment, Harry opens his mouth to keep talking, “I still feel like there is more to it. Something that you’re not telling me. You don’t have to, obviously. It’s none of my business, but I want you to know that you can tell me if you want. I know that I’ve been very judgmental of you in the past, and I’m sorry for that.” Harry has more to say, but he lets the words die on his tongue because he just doesn’t know if he really wants to go there. 

“You have been a judgmental asshole, but it’s okay. I know I haven’t exactly been nice to you with the whole kidnapping thing. Anyways, Carey said something that shook me a bit, and I just wasn’t able to get past it. Especially after our conversation when my family was brought up. I kind of freaked, and allowed myself to break. I’m sorry you had to see me like that. I don’t normally allow things like that to get to me. I think it was just the stress of the entire day,” Louis explains, and Harry’s curiosity is even greater than it was before, which he didn’t think was even possible. 

“What did he say? Like I said, you don’t have to tell me, but it may help to like, maybe talk about it? I don’t know. I never talk about any of my problems, but I also don’t really have friends to talk about them with,” Harry says, trying to keep the sadness from his voice. It’s true though. He doesn’t have anyone to talk about his problems with. He looks up to find Louis staring at him, but it’s not with disdain like he had expected. He half expected Louis to say that rich people don’t have problems, but Louis isn’t doing that. He looks sad for Harry. 

“Umm… He said…” Louis’ voice cracks on the word, so he clears his throat, looking down at their still joined hands. Louis’ feels small in his own, but also perfect. Harry can’t remember the last time he held hands with someone, but it feels nice. He squeezes Louis’ hand in what he hopes is a reassuring gesture. “He said that my mom is dead, and that’s why Lottie was working for him. She took a job as a maid to take care of a little sister I didn’t even know I had.” 

“He could be lying,” Harry points out, looking up to find Louis wiping his eyes. A pain stabs through Harry’s chest at the sight of Louis crying again. Memories of Louis naked and shaking in the shower resurface, his beautiful face wet with water and tears. Harry never wants to see him that broken again. Louis is larger than life itself and seeing him look so small did something to Harry’s worldview. It altered it in a way that can never be reversed, regardless of whether or not he returns to his old life. He doesn’t even know if he wants to at this point. He barely remembers it even though it wasn’t even a week ago. It feels like a lifetime. 

“No. I don’t think he was,” Louis says, shaking his head. “I told myself the same thing, that he was lying, but why would he lie about that? He would need a motive, and I cannot think of one. At the time, he was trying to make me angry, not sad. He just said it so naturally, and usually I can tell when people are lying. He had his own tells that I figured out pretty quickly. I don’t think it was a lie. So I found out my mom is dead from some scumbag who was trying to rape my sister. I still don’t know what happened to my dad, but I have at least a half sister running around somewhere that I’ve never met. I don’t even know her name.” 

“Could you get someone to find out? Like someone that is good with computers to maybe do some research on your family. That way you could find out what happened to your dad and your mom. You could maybe even find out your other sister’s name,” Harry suggests, but he feels so guilty. Harry had treated Louis like a monster when he came home with blood drying on his clothes, but he had literally just found out all of this information about his family. He must have been in shock. That explains all of his actions during their conversation. It explains a lot really. 

“I could. It will have to be someone I really trust though. Luke maybe. He’s a genius with computers, and I trust him. I could get him to do some digging later. Simon definitely can not find out, though. If he does, then he will know I let Lottie go,” Louis says, his voice sounding almost detached. Harry hates it, but he assumes that is just how Louis deals with things. He dissociates himself from it, so it doesn’t hurt as badly.

“I can’t say I know exactly how you feel, but I kind of do. My mom didn’t die, but the nanny I was telling you about before did. I don’t know exactly what happened to her, but one day when I was nine, my dad told me that she had passed away, and she was no longer going to be our nanny. I was so upset. I know she wasn’t my mom or anything, but she was like a mom to me. I loved her so much. She taught me a lot that I still carry with me. He wouldn’t even let us go to her funeral. I never got to say goodbye. I think about that a lot,” Harry discloses, feeling as though he needs to say something relatable to Louis. It’s important to him for Louis to know that someone may actually understand how he is feeling. 

“Yeah. I think that’s what hurts the most. I never got to say goodbye to her. I never got to ask her why she let me leave that day. I know it was mostly my dad’s decision, but she could have come with me. She just allowed it to happen. I never knew why, and I have never been able to forgive her for that,” Louis says, his voice cracking. He clears his throat, sniffling a moment later, and Harry can sense that he doesn't want to talk about it anymore. 

“How did you get these scars?” Harry asks, tracing one on Louis’ rib cage. It’s light coloring is a harsh contrast to Louis’ tan skin. The edges are rough, but the inside is smooth, and Harry finds himself wondering what could have caused such a scar. Louis looks relieved for the change of subject, his features no longer sad. He watches Harry trace the scar for a few moments, almost as if he is in a trance. 

“Oh umm… that one was from a knife I took to the ribs. It punctured my lung, but no other damage was done. Wasn’t so bad, I guess,” Louis answers, blinking a few times, seeming to come back to reality. His answer sounds so casual, as if he is answering a question about the weather or about breakfast. His tone just feels so normal for such abnormal words. 

“What?” Harry asks, his expression creasing into dismay. He is just so horrified by the answer. It must have been so scary and painful for him. Did he get it in an altercation with some random person? Is there more to the story? Harry has seen first hand that Louis can throw a punch. It’s so strange to actually imagine him in a fight though. Everything Harry has witnessed was more so one sided. Does he fight dirty? Harry could see him being scrappy, using every means necessary to win.

“It’s okay. It happened a few years ago. Simon has a bunch of doctors and surgeons on payroll for that kind of thing. He covers the entire cost of an injury. It hurt like a bitch, but I’ve had worse,” Louis shrugs, and Harry can feel Louis’ fingers in his hair at the base of his neck, fiddling with a curl there. It’s very relaxing. Harry could almost fall back to sleep, but he has more questions. 

“That sounds really painful. What could be worse?” Harry asks, long fingers moving to another scar on Louis bicep. The whole morning feels surreal, as if Harry is living the moment through a blurred camera filter. The harsh lines of reality are smooth, imperfections long forgotten in the morning light. This filter feels different than the one Harry had on his life before he met Louis. Maybe it’s because he has seen the world for what it really is. He knows what lies outside of this moment. 

“Well that one is from a gunshot wound. The bullet just grazed me that time, though. Nothing too life threatening, so the knife was worse in a way. Knife wounds aren’t as clean, and a lot of the ones you see are knife wounds or burns from various hot objects. The burns sucked really bad. That is some of the worst pain. I have had seven broken bones, but to be fair one of those happened outside of work, in my free time when I was 18. I fell doing a trick on my skateboard, and I broke my wrist. A few weeks later, I was also shot in the shoulder by one of Selley’s men. That was a shitty month, but I made it through,” Louis tells him, beginning to move. Harry grumbles, but detaches himself, allowing Louis to turn over and show him the scar on his back. 

Harry doesn't know what he expected a bullet scar to look like, but Louis’ looks as though someone took their finger and pressed it hard into Louis’ shoulder, then the skin never bounced back to its previous state. He can’t stop himself from lightly pressing his own finger into the puncture, finding it rough on the outside and smooth in the middle. He never knew scars could be smooth. “You were so young,” Harry murmurs, his face so close to the mark, Louis can probably feel his breath. 

“Yeah, but that’s okay. We were all young once, I suppose,” Louis responds with a shrug, but before he can turn around, Harry leans down to kiss the scar on his shoulder. He doesn't know why he does it, but it feels like he should. Maybe it’s because Louis didn’t have anyone to kiss it for him when it happened. Well, Harry supposes he could have had a boyfriend at the time, but he was so young. At 18, Harry was preparing for college, not getting shot. He couldn’t even imagine. Their lives have been so different. 

“What was that for?” Louis asks, when he turns back around, looking Harry in the eyes. 

“Because I wanted to,” Harry shrugs, deciding not to tell him the whole reason. Harry did want to, but it isn’t just that. 

“Can I suck your dick?” Louis asks, and Harry’s head is spinning from the sudden change in subject. He was not expecting that question. 

“Why?” Harry asks, but Louis is already moving. He pushes Harry’s shoulders against the headboard and situates himself between Harry’s legs. 

“‘Cause I want to,” Louis responds with a smirk, and Harry has to roll his eyes. His cock is already beginning to harden though, the image of Louis’ firm pink lips wrapped around his shaft floating through his mind. He didn’t know he wanted it until Louis said it, and now he needs it to happen. 

“Didn’t think you would enjoy having something in your mouth. You talk so much, it seems like it would be a hiderence,” Harry quips, but there is no bite to it. He is suppressing a smile as Louis’ begins to pepper kisses down his neck, small hands roaming all over Harry’s pale torso. Harry watches them, the tattoos on Louis’ arm moving over top of the muscles, bringing the tiny sketches to life. Harry wonders what he would look like covered in tattoos. He finds himself wanting to get another one. 

“I don’t mind. Seemed you were doing quite a bit of talking yourself last night,” Louis responds, a wicked glint in his eyes. It takes Harry a moment to figure out exactly what Louis is referring to, but when he does, his body heats in embarrassment. He had almost forgotten that he let a curse word slip last night. He didn’t even mean to. He is usually able to keep his composure even in moments of passion, but something about Louis eating Harry’s come made his brain short circuit. 

“I guess I just figured out that sometimes, there are literally no other words to describe a feeling. Maybe cursing isn’t low class. Maybe it’s being in moments where life is so high, there are no words to describe it except for fuck,” Harry says, the word feeling so foreign on his tongue that he almost swallows it back down. It’s worth it to see the reaction on Louis’ face, his mouth forming a small ‘o’. 

“Jesus that just made me so hard,” Louis murmurs, and Harry thinks he is making a joke at first, almost laughing at the response. Harry quickly realizes that it wasn’t a joke though because Louis attacks his chest in a frenzy, teeth grazing over Harry’s nipple, making Harry squirm. His cock twitches again, warm and now hard between the sheets. He’s a little sore from last night, but a blowjob seems like the perfect remedy. 

“I’ll have to remember that,” Harry says, his breath hitching when Louis grabs his cock with a warm hand. Harry’s eyes roll back in his head, the feeling so good he doesn’t exactly know how to process it. Louis definitely knows what he is doing. Last night was probably the best sex Harry has ever had, so there is no denying Louis’ skill. Harry feels like he is addicted to it already, but he will have to quit cold turkey soon. This arrangement won’t last forever. 

“Gonna suck you off, then I’ll go get us some breakfast. Whatever organic, non-dairy shit you want. I don’t care. I just need your dick in my mouth. I need to taste you again. Please, can I taste you again?” Louis asks, his features desperate, as if he needs Harry’s cock to continue to keep living. Harry thinks that if he doesn’t have his cock in Louis’ mouth soon, he may actually die so he understands the concept. Harry nods, at a loss for words. Louis just looks so desperate, and who is Harry to deny him? 

With Harry’s permission, Louis ducks down under the duvet, covering his head completely. Harry can’t see what he is doing, but he can certainly feel Louis’ sure hand stroking his cock to full hardness. Harry moans, putting his feet flat on the bed, his knees creating a tent around Louis to hopefully make it easier for him to breathe. The anticipation of what is going to happen is driving Harry crazy. He doesn’t know when Louis is going to use his mouth. He doesn’t know if Louis is going to massage his balls or lick the tip of his cock. 

“Louis. Please,” Harry whines when he feels cool air being blown on his slit. Him asking nicely pays off because he feels Louis lick the same spot he was blowing a moment later. The warm wetness is a direct contrast to the cool dryness of his breath, and Harry jumps at the feeling, biting back another moan. He can’t see him, but he can feel Louis’ cheeky smile as he leans against Harry’s thigh, lips already leaving his cock. Harry misses them, but it’s not long before they are back, suddenly taking him deep.

“Shhi…” The curse word trails off as Harry squirms, hearing an audible pop when his cock leaves Louis mouth, more cool air being blown a second later. Harry fists his hands above where he knows Louis’ head is to stop himself from grabbing it and pushing him down on his cock again. He doesn’t think he is going to last long; it all feels so amazing. He can already feel the heat pooling behind his belly button. 

“Feels so good,” Harry moans when Louis finally puts his mouth back on Harry’s cock. It’s slower this time, as he gradually sinks down, taking him inch by excruciating inch until Harry can feel the back of Louis’ throat. He can feel Louis’ hand wrap around the base of his shaft, cupping his balls as he does it, stroking what he can’t reach in time with his bobbing head. Harry almost lets his feet fall, wanting to see the duvet move with Louis’ motions but decides that he likes not really knowing what is going to happen. It somehow makes everything hotter. 

“Louis what are you still doing in bed, and where the fuck is Harry?” Harry jumps when Niall’s voice gets louder as he opens the door. He didn’t even know there was anyone in the house, and Louis is currently sucking him off beneath the covers. Niall waltzes right into the room, as if he owns the place, Liam trailing behind him. Harry shuts his legs, feeling Louis’ ears against his thighs. He knows Louis heard them though, but his cock is still occupying Louis’ mouth, and it feels so good. 

“Harry? What are you doing in Louis’ bed? Where is Louis?” Niall looks confused, taking in the scene in front of him. Harry silently begs Louis to stop. There is no way the other man doesn’t realize they are no longer alone. Harry doesn’t know what would be worse, Louis revealing himself right now from between Harry’s legs, or Louis continuing his former pursuit of tasting Harry. Louis seems to make the decision for him because he hasn’t stopped. Harry is going to murder him. 

“I umm- I…” Harry bites his lip on a moan when Louis’ teeth barely scrape the sensitive head of his cock. Harry shakes himself, trying to focus on the question and not on what Louis is doing to his cock out of their sight. “I slept in here last night. Louis is in the bathroom.” Harry decides to at least tell half the truth. There is no other explanation as to why Harry would be naked and in Louis’ bed. The bathroom door is shut, so he thinks the second half is a fairly convincing lie. 

“I see. Louis, I don’t know if you can hear me,” Niall’s voice is loud, and Louis bobs his head on Harry’s cock in answer. 

“He can hear you,” Harry says quickly, the words breathless from holding back screams of pleasure. 

“Simon wants to speak to you this morning. He sent me over to watch Harry and Liam while you have your meeting. He doesn’t like to be kept waiting,” Niall yells, his head turned towards the bathroom door that has remained firmly shut. Liam is watching Harry, through suspicious eyes. Harry can feel his whole body heating, but Louis isn’t stopping. For some reason, Liam and Niall being there but not knowing exactly what is going on between Harry’s legs is making it so much hotter. Harry can see the sheets very subtly move where Louis’ ass is, probably grinding against the bed, evidently in agreement with Harry’s thoughts. 

“Fuck,” Harry half moans, half spits, so overwhelmed by the situation. Louis must enjoy that word because in the next moment Louis takes him deep, a wet finger pressed against Harry’s loosened hole. He must sense he is sore because he doesn’t press in, just leaves it there, adding pressure while he continues to suck Harry’s entire life force out through his cock. 

“Yeah that was my thought,” Niall says, and Harry had almost forgotten that they aren’t alone because his head is currently in Louis’ mouth. It takes Harry a few moments to even figure out exactly what Niall is referring to. He can’t even remember his name at the moment, too wrapped up in pleasure. The fact that Niall and Liam are just watching, completely unaware, is ridiculously hot to Harry. What is wrong with him? 

“I- I’ll make sure he k-knows when he gets out. He, shit, h-he will m-meet you downstairs,” Harry manages to get out. He is trying so hard to act like his cock is not getting sucked at this very moment, but he doesn't think it’s very convincing. Niall looks confused by the breathy cadence of Harry’s speech, while Liam’s eyebrows are reaching his hairline, probably realizing something is up just from the sheer fact that Harry has cursed twice. 

“Okay…” Niall responds, drawing the word out. Harry just nods, but not really to Niall. More so for Louis, who can’t even see him because he desperately needs him to keep going. He is close to coming. He can feel it in his toes, the familiar pull of pleasure behind his navel. He is going to come in the next few seconds, and he can’t even warn Louis unless Niall and Liam leave. Niall looks at the bathroom door, while Liam stares at Harry for a moment. Harry is now squirming, not being able to handle the sensation of Louis’ wicked mouth while Niall and Liam are just there. A few seconds later, the other men exit the room, and Harry’s whole body tenses. 

“Lou. I’m gonna. Fuck. I’m gonna come,” Harry whispers, in case Niall and Liam are still outside the door. His whole body is tense, muscles a second away from cramping. Louis doesn’t pull off at the warning, so Harry is coming down his throat a moment later, trying to bite down on his arm to suppress his screams from the force of the orgasm. Louis appears a moment later, swallowing and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. 

“Wanna give you a facial,” Louis says, voice wrecked from having Harry so deep in his throat. His eyes are shiny and blown, black almost completely taking over the blue. His hair is messed up, sticking up in various directions all over his head. His cheeks and lips are so red, Harry doesn’t know if the color can actually be made artificially. 

“What?” Harry asks, his mind automatically going to what Harry gets done at a salon once a week, but for some reason, he doesn't think that’s what Louis is referring to. His brain is mush from his recent orgasm though, so he really cannot think of anything else. 

“I wanna come on your face, Princess,” Louis tells him, words slow and measured, as if they were dipped in chocolate and smeared across Harry’s lips. Harry licks his lips, wanting to see if they taste as good as they sound. Harry’s brain shuts down, his heart stuttering in his chest at the suggestion. No one has ever come on Harry’s face. He imagines it would be bad for his skin, but Harry still finds himself nodding. Louis smiles, kissing him for a second. Harry doesn't even think about his morning breath, all he can taste is his own come on Louis’ lips. 

Harry shimmies down, laying on his back as Louis crawls up his chest. Harry doesn’t know why he’s nervous, but he can feel anxiety fluttering just below his rapidly beating heart. Louis’ cock is red and angry as it hovers over Harry’s face. Harry wants to lick the bead of precome that is at the tip, but he doesn’t, too nervous to even breathe. Harry’s spent dick twitches when Louis grabs his own, stroking slowly. 

“I think you enjoyed having visitors. Liked that they were watching, but didn’t know they were watching. It turned you on, didn’t it? My princess has a bit of an exhibition kink?” Louis rambles, and Harry nods in confirmation, even though he doesn’t really know what an exhibition kink is. He assumes it’s someone that enjoys being watched in the height of sexual activities.. “Say it, baby. Tell me that you liked it.” 

“I liked it,” Harry confirms, his voice barely above a whisper with the admission. Louis groans, his fist moving faster. He swipes the bead of precome from the slit to help with the glide. Harry watches in fascination, unsure if there is anything he can do to help him along. 

“I knew it. You’re probably so fucking kinky and don’t even know it because you never allowed yourself to be. Fuck Harry. What if they come back in now? The door’s unlocked. They could come back in and watch me paint your beautiful fucking face with my come. Would you like that? Would you like to show them my art?” Louis asks, the words coming out choppy between his pants. 

“Yes. I’d love that. Show them what you did to me,” Harry moans out, getting caught up in Louis’ words, in the fantasy Louis is painting. The idea of Liam finding him in a compromising position should scare him, but he finds that it doesn’t. He kind of wants it. Liam would be so shocked, this version of Harry not aligning with the person Harry has projected to the world. Harry loves that idea though. Having this secret. 

“I’ve been wanting to do this since the moment I met you. You talk about art, but nothing could compare to your face painted with my come. Fuck Harry, you’re gonna look so pretty. Perfect. My princess getting so dirty for me. Yeah. It’s gonna drip down those fuckable lips of yours and you’ll lick it off because you just want a little taste. Fuck,” Louis rambles, and Harry is so turned on he is surprised he isn’t hard again. Holy shit, he didn’t realize Louis could talk this dirty. It is so hot, Harry can’t stop himself from moaning. 

“Please. Paint my face, Louis. Fuck. Need it. Wanna be art,” Harry says, and he means every single word. Everything in him is screaming for Louis to come. He wants to feel it on his face. He wants to finally taste him. Harry feels like a man possessed, this whole thing completely outside of anything he ever knew he wanted to need, but Harry doesn't question it. He is tired of questioning it, he just wants to be in the moment. He wants to feel come on his face for the first time. 

“Gonna,” Louis chokes out, and Harry closes his eyes when the first jet of hot come hits his face. It falls just below his eyes, on his cheek. The second lands on his jaw, then the third ends up streaking across his lips. Harry can’t stop his tongue from licking the substance up, the salty taste making him moan. He should feel disgusted with himself, but he doesn't. He cracks his eyes open to find Louis looking down at Harry in awe, his expression full of lust even though he just came. 

“Art,” Louis says a moment later, leaning down to kiss Harry’s come stained lips. “Stay here. I’m gonna go get a washcloth.” Louis slowly gets up, standing on wobbling legs. He goes into the bathroom, returning with a cloth a moment later. Harry stays perfectly still as Louis gently cleans him up, tossing the cloth back into the bathroom once he is finished. 

“As much as I hate for this morning to end, Niall is probably downstairs, wondering if you have killed me,” Louis jokes, breaking the moment. Harry laughs, nodding. Louis stands up again, going to his drawers to grab some clothes. He throws some clean clothes at Harry who thanks him then slowly puts them on, still sore from all of their activities. 

They are quiet as they leave the room, going down the stairs to find Niall and Liam in the kitchen, talking. “There you are. I thought Harry had found a way to kill you,” Niall jokes as soon as he sees them. Louis laughs loudly, looking at Harry as if saying ‘see I told you’. Harry bites back his own smile, rolling his eyes. “Simon wants to see you.” 

“Yeah I know. I heard you the first time. I guess I better get this over with,” Louis says, but Harry can tell he is dreading it. He leans towards Harry a moment, as if he is about to kiss him goodbye but stops himself. Harry tells himself he isn’t upset. He knows, logically, that this will not last. Harry will be back to his own life sooner rather than later. That may even be what Simon wants to meet Louis about. Hope should fill Harry’s system at that thought, but it doesn't. Dread, however, is very present. 

“I’ll hold down the fort,” Niall responds, saluting to Louis in a mocking way. Louis flips him off, waving to Harry and Liam as he shoves his feet into his shoes, leaving a few moments later. Harry tries not to worry about him, but he just has a feeling of dread that is gnawing at his gut. 

“Who are you and what have you done with Harry?” Liam asks as soon as Niall leaves the room, to turn the TV on. Harry freezes, for a split second, trying to decide what he wants to say to Liam. He decides to go with the truth, telling him about what had occurred since he last saw him. He skims over some of the more personal or intimate details. Liam nods his head, eyes wide with the overload of information, but he doesn’t say much as Harry recounts the events of last night. 

“Are you falling for him?” Liam asks after a few moments. The breath leaves Harry’s lungs at the question because he has been trying not to think about it. He doesn't want to, but he knows he has to. He has to entertain the thought, even if it makes him feel uncomfortable. 

“I don’t know,” Harry answers truthfully. 

__________

Louis takes a few deep breaths, attempting to calm his racing heart, as he stands outside of Simon’s office door. He doesn’t know why he’s so nervous, it’s just Simon. He has been in his office a thousand times before, and nothing bad has ever happened. This is different though. He has the completely illogical fear that Simon will be able to see remnants of Harry’s touch on his skin. That he will  _ know  _ of Louis’ disobedience just by looking at him. 

He stares at the door, trying to find some bit of courage inside of himself. An awful mixture of trepidation and anxiety stirs in his gut, forcing its way up into his throat. Louis swallows, trying to breathe evenly before his racing heart decides to completely run away. He can feel his body shaking, beads of sweat forming on his brow. He raises a fist to knock on the door, his movements jerky and uncoordinated. Three firm knocks then he waits, trying not to jump out of his skin in the process. 

“Come in,” he hears a familiar, nasally voice say from behind the door. It sounds normal. He doesn't sound mad or upset at all, and Louis takes another deep breath before gripping the handle and turning the knob. He walks into the familiar office, immediately seeing Simon behind his desk, glasses sitting on the tip of his nose, as he looks at a paper of some sort. 

“Hi Simon. I’m sorry I don’t have a formal report like I normally would. Wasn’t sure if you wanted one since I sent the other boys to explain everything we found out last night,” Louis starts, taking the seat in front of the desk that Simon had gestured to. He tries to keep the nervous tremor from his voice, and thinks he succeeds. He laces his fingers together in an attempt not to fidget too much, trying to breathe evenly. 

“That’s alright,” Simon responds, letting the paper fall on the desk, sitting his glasses down on top of it, and finally giving Louis his undivided attention. He stares at him a few minutes through squinted eyes, as if he is studying him. Louis forces his body to relax even though his heart is beating madly in his chest. Simon is looking at him as if he knows all of Louis’ secrets, as if he can smell his betrayal on his breath, and Louis feels like he needs to stop breathing so he can’t pick up the scent anymore. Louis forces air in and out of his lungs. “That’s not what I wanted to discuss with you, anyways.” 

“Oh,” Louis says, the word coming out on a held breath. He doesn’t know if he should feel relieved or horrified. He cannot imagine what else Simon would want to discuss, but at least he won’t be grilled about the events of the night before. Louis is a good lair, but he has no idea if he could be that convincing to Simon. That’s like lying to his father. Simon would probably see right through him. 

“Yes. I wanted to discuss Harry Styles.” Louis freezes for a split second, feeling as though his entire body is a Vinyl that skipped when the needle encountered a scratch on its surface. It’s only for a second though before everything begins working again, the album beginning to spin once more. If Simon notices he doesn’t let it show. 

“Did his parents agree to pay his ransom?” Louis asks, the question coming out quickly. He is sure they did. It's been almost a week. How could they not? Louis should be relieved. He has been wanting Harry out of his hair since the very beginning, but all he feels is dread. He should have been preparing himself for this moment. He knew better than to get attached. He knew this was coming. Harry’s parents answering the ransom then Harry leaving his life for good. He will never see him again, and Louis should feel elated. He doesn't. Instead, his heart feels like it has been ripped out of his chest and put into a blender. 

“They aren’t cooperating at this time, so I’ve come up with a different plan,” Simon answers, and Louis was not expecting that. They aren’t cooperating? Was Harry right to say that his parents don’t give a damn about him? How could they not answer when monsters have their only son? Harry may be annoying, but he’s also very kind. He’s funny in a very unintentional way. Louis has become quite fond of the way his voice raises an octave higher whenever he is outraged. The way his nose scrunches when Louis does something he wasn’t expecting. How could his family not love that? 

Then the images of Harry’s cute mannerisms in his head all but disappear when he realizes Simon mentioned ‘a different plan’. What in the ever loving fuck could that be? Louis has no idea, but apprehension is gripping the pieces of his blended heart and squeezes it, making a juice made up of fear and anxiety. Louis swallows, forcing the next question from his throat, “What’s that?” 

“His father has some priceless pieces of art in his private collection. We are going to put a bomb vest on Harry and tell them to give us 10 million dollars, and certain art pieces, or we will detonate it and kill everyone in the house,” Simon responds, an evil smile curling on his face. A bomb vest? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Louis knows next to nothing about bombs. None of his friends do either to his knowledge. There is no way they could rig it to not go off. Louis isn’t even on good terms with Simon’s bomb guy. Fuck. 

“Can’t I just steal them, then we can let Harry and Liam go?” Louis questions because it seems so logical. Louis could easily steal something from a rich guy. They got into Carey’s house, no problem. He probably had more security than a CEO. Louis doesn’t think that CEO’s lives are commonly in danger, so he would probably have pretty minimal security. Louis thinks he could handle it. 

“They are in a vault. Not even you or Niall could crack into it. We need Harry’s father to open it. I plan to blackmail Harry and his father so that when he is released, they will stay quiet,” Simon tells him, and the hope that is swelling Louis’ chest deflates. Fuck. Louis wonders what he could possibly have on Harry to use as blackmail. He obviously doesn't know Harry’s secrets, but he doesn't seem like the type of person to have done something that is blackmail worthy. Luke would have told Louis if he found anything, but he hasn’t which makes Louis suspicious of what Simon is saying. Louis decides not to press the matter. 

“What about Liam?” Louis just now realizes that Simon hasn’t mentioned him a single time in his plan. That cannot be good. Did he find out Liam’s true identity? If so, how? Did Luke tell him? Louis trusts Luke because Ashton does, but he sometimes wonders where Luke’s loyalty lies. It just seems like Simon has more of a hold over Luke than he does the rest of the boys, and Louis cannot understand why or how. Louis doesn’t have time to consider it because Simon’s voice has become apparent again. 

“He is just an assistant. Once you leave here, tell Niall to kill him. Dispose of his body in a way it will never be found. You know the drill,” Simon says, and Louis thinks he may throw up. Goddamn it. They can’t kill Liam. He’s innocent. He doesn’t deserve death. Louis wants to curl up into a ball, but he can’t. If he shows any sign of weakness to Simon, they will all die. Louis has to stay strong. If not for himself, then for the rest of the boys that are in danger. He just can’t imagine seeing the life leave Liam's eyes. Harry would never forgive him. He really would be a monster. 

“Why can’t we blackmail him to keep him quiet, too?” Louis asks the question before he thinks better of it. Simon looks at him suspiciously, something akin to anger dancing behind his beady eyes. Louis tries not to show any fear. He doesn’t question Simon’s authority that often, but he is desperate. His mind begins to race, trying to think of a way to get them all out of this safely, without Simon ever finding out. 

“He’s not worth our time and resources. Louis, have you grown fond of the pair?” Louis freezes at the question, feeling as though he is a child with his hand caught in the cookie jar. Simon is looking at him as if he is a puzzle that he is just seconds away from figuring out. Louis tries to keep his breaths even, his body from trembling. He is going to be lucky to make it out of this office alive at this rate. Simon is clearly suspicious of Louis, and maybe he doesn’t even trust him. This will make getting them out unscathed that much harder. Louis needs to think of something quick. 

“No. Not at all, Sir. I just thought it may be easier than trying to hide a body,” Louis lies, the words coming out easily from his jumbled brain. Simon is still looking at him, his eyes squinted, thin lips a harsh line. Louis has known Simon for a long time now, and he has never seen this expression on his face. Not even when he was killing someone for being disobedient or a snitch. It’s chilling, and Louis barely stops a shiver from going up his spine. The office suddenly feels ten degrees cooler, as if Simon’s very mood is affecting the environment around them. 

“I disagree. We found no traces of a family. I think he is a liability that we are better off getting rid of instead of spending time and resources on, to keep him quiet,” Simons responds, the words sounding almost rehearsed. Fuck. He found out. Louis has no idea how, but he found out. Maybe he told one of his other computer guys to look into Liam’s history since he seems to not trust Louis and his men anymore. Louis doesn’t trust Simon anymore either, so the feeling is mutual. Louis is just overwhelmed, unsure of what to do and how to proceed. He has two choices. Get back in Simon’s good graces and survive or put his life on the line to try and save Harry and Liam. He would have to leave everything he has ever known. Louis comes to a decision. 

“I understand, Sir,” Louis says, hardening his voice. Simon is smiling, so maybe Louis has gained back some trust with that comment. Good. He needs that for what he is about to add to the conversation. It’s a long shot, but he needs Simon to agree to it. He keeps his tone nonchalant, “I should go in with Harry, though. I can have a gun and can keep an eye on him to make sure he doesn't somehow try to escape, or his family doesn't help him. I can even carry the remote for the bomb, that way I can be out of there if we decide to set it off.” 

“You make a good point. I was already planning to accompany him in this, so you coming along for reinforcement is a good idea. This is an important mission. We cannot leave without the money or the art. His father has guards. We can use Harry to get in, though. I’m sure they will let us enter when they realize we have a bomb strapped to his chest and a gun pointed at his head.” Simon is replaced by a mental image of a scared Harry in a bomb vest, as Louis holds a gun to his head. Louis feels like he may cry at the very thought, blinking back tears from his eyes. The room suddenly feels much too small, as if it is closing in on him. This just solidifies his decision.

“When is this taking place?” Louis asks because he needs a timeframe. He needs to know what he is working with in order to plan. What he really wants to do is leave, but he can’t. He tries to focus on the conversation. He needs to get as much information about this plan as possible in order to try to change the outcome. He just feels so hopeless. Simon is powerful. More powerful than Louis will ever be, so it feels as though he is taking on a giant. Does he really want to? It would most certainly mean death. What’s the point? 

“Tomorrow night. Twenty hundred hours. Bring him here,” Simon orders, and Louis nods. They could try to get Liam out and just tell Simon they killed him. He could go with Harry to do the trade off, and stay in the organization. Harry doesn’t have to die as long as his parents cooperate. He just feels like there is more to the plan that Simon is not telling him; he just cannot figure out what. He has a bad feeling though, as if he will be marching Harry to his death. Louis usually trusts his gut, and it’s telling him to get Harry the fuck out of dodge, but how without putting himself on the reaper’s list? 

“Why so late?” Louis asks, trying to keep his voice from cracking. He cannot allow his inner turmoil to coat the inflection of his words. Simon cannot know where Louis’ thoughts are, even though he desperately wants to just ask Simon what his real plan is. Tell him to cut the shit, and share the full thing. Simon is very clearly hiding something. Louis has been trained to see when someone is lying. Even Simon has his tells. It’s in his posture. Louis has seen him lie. He is definitely leaving something out, and Louis wants to know what. 

“From our observations, that is usually the time of day Mr. Styles returns home,” Simons explains, his tone all business. Louis has no idea what he is going to do. The realization that he doesn’t have many options feels like it is shaking the very floorboards of the office. His vision is starting to tunnel, the familiar feeling of hopelessness washing over him. The floor under him feels as though it’s moving, an earthquake causing the boards beneath his feet to become fluid, as if he is trying to stand on water. Everything is moving, and he can’t seem to find his balance. He feels panicked, as if the floor itself is about to open up and swallow his body, taking it into an even darker abyss.

“Okay. I will have him here at half past seven,” Louis confirms, the words somehow forming around the lump in his throat. After that, Simon moves on to other updates, like any normal meeting between them. He briefly brings up the events of last night, but Louis is able to skim over the details. He feels like he is in Simon’s office for hours, his body tense the entire time as he tries to think of a way out of this. 

When he finally leaves Simon’s office, he can’t help but sag in relief. It’s almost lunch time, his stomach grumbling as he shuts the door since he skipped breakfast in favor of a blow job. He doesn’t know if he can eat though, the anxiety in his system from his recent conversation still running rampant. He goes down the hall to find the closet where he knows they store some things, hoping that what he is looking for is in there. 

Louis feels like a helpless fourteen year old boy who doesn’t have a home again. His fate was decided for him then, and it never really changed. Simon just gave him the illusion of making his own decisions. Louis feels like he has no choices. He either dies trying to save Harry, and Harry could possibly die in the process. Or he marches Harry into his father’s home like a lamb for slaughter. It will be up to him if he wants to die a hero or a villain in his own story. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOT A CLIFFHANGER SO DON'T COME AT ME OKAY


	11. Run Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis makes a decision

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only two chapters left!!!!!!! I can't believe it's almost done! Well...... this particular part of the series at least.... 
> 
> A quick thank my two betas, Dana and Linda, for reading this fic and putting up with my constant questioning of my sanity. This one was hard, even for them, so a huge thank you is in order. They are amazing friends, and I love them dearly. 
> 
> If you're interested in supporting me as a writer, please look at my [author website](https://lmarcherofficial.com/%20rel=). 
> 
> There is also a [Spotify Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1l6QjjLoOIRPOCgZt8d4YV?si=8kwH6LpvQzik8AfjPVMPIw) that will be updated weekly with the songs represented as chapter titles as well as any other songs I feel fit with the emotions/theme of the chapter.

_Come take my hand while I'm waiting here  
_ _Get away from it all and find what's real_  
_If we don't get out now the chance won't reappear  
_ _We can run away- Sarah Jaroz_

“Harry! Niall! Liam!” Louis shouts, coming through his back door. His heart is still racing from his recent meeting with Simon, but he still manages to grab a few pizzas on his way home. He still can’t seem to shake that jittery feeling throughout his entire being. That his shaky life has finally turned into an earthquake hard enough to turn the seismic scale to ash and dust, threatening his entire existence. He could fall at any moment, and it is surely to be the death of him. He sits the food down on the counter and the bags off to the side. 

“Lou?” He hears Harry’s voice and looks up to find him stopping dead in his tracks at the sight of him. 

“What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Niall says, coming up behind Harry. His light brown brows are creased together with worry. Louis knows that it’s not often people see him shaken up, especially Niall, so he must be internally freaking out. Louis feels like he can’t breathe. He peeks out the window and sees guards standing outside. Louis shakes his head, walking further into the house. He grabs his phone, picking a playlist from Spotify and turning it up as loud as it can go as he sits it down on the counter. 

“Louis. You’re scaring me.” Harry’s voice is barely loud enough over the music blaring from the phone speaker as he looks down at it in dismay. “And what are my bags from the day at the museum doing here?” Harry gestures towards the bags Louis had sat on the ground. Louis swallows, trying to push back the sense of panic and dread leftover from his conversation with Simon. The words ‘villian’ and ‘hero’ keep replaying in his head repeatedly, only now it is keeping beat with whatever song that is filling the empty spaces of the room. 

“What did Simon say,” Niall asks, and normally he would crack a smile with the phrase, but his face remains completely serious. Louis must really look freaked out if Niall passes up the opportunity to make a joke. Fuck. Louis thought he was better at hiding his true feelings, but Niall knows him too well. Harry probably knows him better at this point. Louis looks at Harry, his expression a mixture of worry and alarm. Harry’s story about the monster is playing in his head, the way his voice was soft and sultry as he told it while he was sitting on his dick. Louis can almost hear the sentence ‘the beast was human all along’. 

“Louis?” Harry says, breaking Louis from his memory. Harry looks so innocent in this moment, dressed in Louis’ clothes with wide green eyes, his hair curling around his face. He’s so beautiful and trusting, and Louis makes a decision. 

“We need to get you and Liam out of here,” Louis says, ignoring Niall’s earlier question while looking directly at Harry, his voice unwavering and sure. Louis just cannot do this anymore. He cannot keep affecting innocent lives and somehow justifying it. He can no longer be a monster. He will not be the villain in Harry’s story. He will not be the villain in his own story. Louis is human. 

“What? What happened?” Niall asks, his blue eyes begging Louis to say something more. Louis feels like if he says more, he will throw up. The pizza on the counter smells about as unappealing as avocado on toast. It churns his stomach, and he almost wants to throw it outside. He has this strange feeling that Simon is somehow watching them, even though he doesn’t think Simon has his house bugged. He could though. He wouldn’t put it past him at this point, so that’s why Louis started playing the music. It will hopefully muffle their voices enough so that they won’t be picked up by possible microphones recording their conversation. 

“The conversation with Simon didn’t go well. He said Harry’s parents aren’t cooperating,” Louis tells them, not being able to say more without his stomach churning unpleasantly. He keeps replaying the meeting over and over in his head, trying to figure out what he missed. He feels like there was something, maybe words that were unsaid that would give some clarity. He is just missing far too many pieces to see the whole picture yet, and it is driving him crazy. 

“I knew they wouldn’t,” Harry says, his voice small and his eyes cast down. He looks heartbroken, as if he was hoping his family would respond. Louis can’t imagine how he is feeling. Well, that’s a lie. Louis actually can. He probably feels abandoned and betrayed. If that's the case, then Louis knows exactly how he is feeling. Harry had said from the beginning that his family wouldn’t pay, that they didn’t care about him enough to do so. This is his version of the door slamming in his face. Louis suddenly wants to hug him tightly and tell him that he is wanted. 

“What does he want to do then?” Niall asks, his voice unsure. He is looking at Louis as if he has all the answers. Louis knows that look so well. He has been getting it from Niall since they were kids on the streets, but Louis doesn’t have all the answers. He didn’t then either. He made it up along the way, but he can’t do that now. One wrong move, and they are all dead. He is just as scared as them, but they need someone to make a decision. They need someone to be strong. 

“Well, he wants us to kill Liam for starters,” Louis answers, not being able to look Liam in the eye as he says it. He keeps his gaze trained on Harry, whose mouth falls open in horror. Louis grimaces, nodding his head to reaffirm his statement. He doesn't know Liam that well. He has barely ever interacted with him, but he is important to Harry. He must not be that bad since Harry has such good morals or whatever. He definitely doesn’t deserve to die executioner's style on some shitty dock, then his weighed-down body being thrown into the deepest part of the lake. 

“What?” Liam asks, the word high pitched and squeaky. Louis finally allows his gaze to land on Liam, his brown eyes wide and scared, mirroring Harry’s expression. Louis’ heart hurts at the sight. Fuck. They don’t deserve this. Louis is such a horrible person for ever getting them into this. A lot of the people Louis has inadvertently hurt in the past probably didn’t deserve it. How many mothers and widows have suffered because of his actions? How many nights did they spend praying their child or spouse would come home? The only reason why he cares this time is because he has gotten to know his victims, is even falling for one. What does that say about him? He can make this right though. He can. 

“Yeah he found out that you’re just Harry’s assistant. I don’t know how, though. The only people that knew were us, Ashton and Luke. I guess he could have had someone else check. I think he’s suspicious of me,” Louis responds, trying to think of someone else Simon could have asked to check. There are plenty of people who are skilled with computer systems, just none that are quiet as good as Luke. Louis couldn’t imagine Luke betraying him, though. They have their differences, but at the end of the day, they are friends. Luke and Ashton come over to his house at least once a week to hang out, so Louis pushes his suspicions of Luke from his mind. Simon is making him crazy. This is what Simon wants. He wants Louis to feel like he is isolated. 

“Fuck. What does he want to do with Harry?” Niall asks, pulling Louis out of his paranoia. He had forgotten that he hadn’t even told them the full plan. Louis starts, but stops, the words dying on his lips. He can’t even fucking say them. He is afraid he will cry if he does. Niall, Harry, and Liam are all looking at him expectantly, though, so Louis takes a deep breath to steady his shaking body. He licks his lips, recalling what Simon had said. 

“Tomorrow night, he wants to strap a bomb vest to Harry, then hold a gun to his head in order to get into his family home. Once in, he wants to tell his dad that if he doesn’t give us money and certain art pieces, we will detonate the bomb and kill everyone in there, after we leave of course,” Louis recounts, his voice hollow as he tries to distance himself from the situation. He tells it as if he was someone that just witnessed the conversation, not a part of it. Not as if he has any kind of investment. It’s the only way he can get it out without crying. He can’t cry in front of Niall and Liam. He has already done it in front of Harry, and that was something Louis isn’t ready to think about. 

“We won’t do it,” Niall proclaims, looking at Harry with kind eyes. Niall has probably figured out that Louis is developing feelings for the other man. He did walk in on Harry in Louis’ bed, not to mention the conversation they had the day before while they were waiting for Luke to hack into Carey’s surveillance cameras. Niall warned Louis not to get attached, but at that point, it was already too late. Now it’s definitely too late, after what had occurred last night. Louis is attached. To Harry.

He does wonder if his attachment may be the reason why he thinks that Simon hasn’t told him the whole plan, that there is more to his plan that he is letting on. Louis asks himself if he is making excuses just because he doesn't want Harry to leave or maybe he thinks he can somehow keep him for himself, however he doesn’t think that’s the case. 

Louis’ bad feeling is coming from the words that were left unsaid during his and Simon’s conversation. The secrets in the inflection of their dialogue. He just can’t shake the feeling that there is more. That Simon has something else he is doing, so Louis doesn't think it has anything to do with his own desire to keep Harry to himself, even though he doesn’t belong in Louis’ world. Louis isn’t even sure if he belongs in it anymore. He certainly doesn’t belong in Harry’s world, though. 

“I didn’t mean ‘we’ as in ‘you and I’. It’s going to be me and Simon. He wants to accompany me on this mission,” Louis clarifies, shaking his head at Niall. His friend’s blue eyes widen at that, the importance of what Louis has just told him sinking in. Liam and Harry look confused at Niall’s reaction, their brows creasing together in an identical manner. They look so similar with their facial expressions, it would be comical if the situation wasn’t so dire. They could be related. Too bad Simon didn’t buy it. 

“If he’s going with you, it’s either important or…” Niall starts. 

“Or he doesn’t trust me,” Louis cuts in to finish, then he glances over at Harry and Liam who now seem as though they understand why Niall’s alarm after Louis had mentioned Simon’s plan to join him. “It could go either way, but I’m going to bet that he doesn’t trust me. It could also be both, I suppose. For some reason, Harry has always seemed important to him…” 

“If he doesn’t trust you, then why would he let you go in the first place? Why not take one of his other cronies?” Niall asks, and this time it’s his turn to cut Louis off. Louis wracks his brain for an explanation because it is definitely a good question, one that Louis hadn’t even considered. He goes through all possible motives in his head, but really can’t come up with any. Maybe Louis is just being paranoid, and Simon doesn’t have any ulterior motive for Harry. 

“I don’t know…” Louis begins, his voice sounding defeated, but then an answer dawns on him. “It could be to keep an eye on me to decide where my loyalty lies.” It’s plausible and definitely something Simon would do. Louis is one of his best and most loyal men, so it would make sense as to why Simon wouldn’t want to cut him off so abruptly. He would want to give Louis a chance to redeem himself and prove his loyalty to the organization once again. Louis is loyal to himself at this point, and now seemingly Harry, even though Louis doesn't want to consider that. He doesn’t want Harry or Liam to die, so it doesn't matter if Simon is testing him. 

“Fuck,” Liam says, shutting his mouth abruptly and looking at Harry guiltily. Louis grins because Harry can’t say shit anymore about cursing. He has cursed a few times now, once in front of Liam even. Harry just pats Liam on the shoulder as if to say ‘don’t worry about it’, and Liam looks relieved. It’s strange to Louis how Liam seems to still feel as though he is Harry’s assistant and not his friend. They are very clearly friends, and Louis can’t figure out how they don’t see it. 

“How are we going to get out of this?” Niall asks, his voice hesitant as if the very question is laced with poison and putting it out in the air will kill one of the members present. Louis has been running the exact same question through his mind since he left the meeting, and it hasn’t killed him yet. It still has a chance though because his head feels like it is about to split open, spilling what’s left of his brain matter onto the kitchen floor. It’s been plaguing his mind, and he has only been able to come up with one plausible solution. 

“I’m not. You all are,” Louis starts, the words leaving his mouth on a sigh. Niall and Harry both look like they are about to say something, so Louis quickly continues with his plan, “Take Harry and Liam to your safe house. Give them new identities and names, passports, the whole nine. Go to Kiki, and get my money, so they can use that to start new lives.”

“What about you?” Harry asks, already shaking his head at Louis’ plans, dark curls coming off his head and flying with the momentum. Niall is nodding along to Harry’s question, probably getting ready to ask the very same thing. Louis shakes his head in response, though, because they aren’t going to like the answer. He already knew Niall would need some persuasion, but he wasn’t really expecting Harry to care about what happens to him. 

“Me? I can’t go with you. Simon doesn’t trust me. He will probably have eyes on me tonight and tomorrow. I’ll distract them while you all sneak out. Simon’s not as suspicious of you, Ni. You can get them out and keep them safe,” Louis explains, his eyes pleading. He needs to express to Niall how important it is to keep them safe. This is the only thing that Louis is asking, to keep Harry and Liam safe from all of this. Niall can do that. Louis knows it. He is the only person in the world Louis would trust with such an important task. 

“No. He will kill you!” Harry exclaims, shaking his head again, this time not as fast. It’s a subtle shake, meant only for Louis. His eyes are pleading, the phrase coming out just on the side of begging. Louis’ heart breaks a tiny bit because it seems as though Harry does care. He gives a damn whether Louis lives or dies, and Louis isn’t sure what to do with that information. It both warms his heart and scares the fuck out of him. Harry hasn’t known him that long even starting off the week by hating him. Something shifted, and Louis felt it, too. That’s why they are having this conversation. Louis gives a fuck whether Harry lives or dies. 

“Yes, he will. It’s fine. It’s more important that you make it out safely Harry. I don’t care if he kills me. You all don’t deserve it,” Louis says, his voice strong and unwavering because he means every single word. He doesn’t give a fuck if Simon kills him. He has lived a horrible fucking life, and he has done atrocious things. He is no better than the people he kills, so he may as well die a man instead of a monster. This is the only way he could ever redeem himself. It needs to be done. 

“You don’t either,” Harry insists, his voice unwavering, the very tone putting a period at the end of the sentence. Louis is beginning to get irritated. What does Harry not understand? This is the only possible way for him to survive. It’s the only way out of the situation. The situation that Louis placed him in. What isn’t clicking for him? Why is he being so fucking stubborn? Louis expected this from Niall, was even ready to argue with his best friend, but not from Harry. Niall hardly ever questions him, but he is nodding his head as if he is an old lady at a church service who agrees with everything the preacher is saying. 

“Yes, I do. I deserve it more than you all. Please, go,” Louis begs, the last word barely above a whisper. He tries to convey with his eyes how detrimental this is. How they really need to follow his orders, but Harry is still shaking his head. Louis continues, trying to persuade them, “I brought some of your clothes Harry, so you don’t have to wear anymore of mine. I figured you could feel more like yourself in them, even though you will be changing identities.” 

“No. Louis. I’m not doing this. Niall can take Liam to the safe house. I’m not leaving you to die. No,” Harry maintains, and his posture has become stiff, unmoving much like his stance in their conversation. His thick arms are crossed in front of the muscled expanse of his chest. It’s hot, but now is not the time to get turned on. Louis will never feel him again. Louis tells himself that the possibility of never kissing Harry again doesn’t bother him. He tells himself that he didn’t deserve to kiss someone as innocent as Harry to begin with. It’s like blood tainting snow, and that he won’t miss it once he’s dead. It doesn’t work, a stabbing sensation shooting through his chest at the very thought, blood pulsing onto the snowy landscape. 

“We don’t have any other choice! He will kill you all. It’s only a matter of time. I feel like there is more to his plan for tomorrow, like there’s something he’s not telling me. I have a really bad feeling, and you all need to get the fuck out of here,” Louis says, finally voicing the fear that has been swimming in his veins. He knows he sounds crazy. He has no proof that Simon is planning to kill Harry. It could just be Louis justifying his actions so that he has a small chance with Harry. Either way, Louis won’t have a chance with Harry. Getting Harry out means that Louis will be dead. Taking Harry to Simon tomorrow would mean Harry will either die or go back to his old life. Either way, Louis will lose him just like he’s lost everyone else. 

“What about you? We can’t just leave you, Louis. He will kill you!” Harry exclaims, as if Louis doesn't know that. It has already been established that Louis will die, and Harry is beginning to sound like a broken record. Louis takes a deep breath, trying not to get frustrated. He knows that Harry doesn’t have a lot of experience with death. Until recently, he probably never had to come to terms with the fact that he will die someday. Louis came to terms with that when he was 14 and starving on the streets. Death is imminent. This is the only way, and he must make Harry understand that. 

“I told you that doesn’t fucking matter. I’m not worried about myself. I’m worried about you all. I’m so fucking sorry I got you into this. Both of you. You didn’t deserve this shit, and it’s all my fault. I’m sorry you have to change your entire lives. I know you have good ones, but there is no other choice.” Louis punctuates each word of the last sentence with a harsh vow to drive home his point. Harry flinches. Good. Louis needs to make him understand. They have no other options. The faster Harry comes to realize this, the quicker Niall can get him to safety. 

“No. Louis, I’m not leaving. I’m not leaving you to die. There has to be another way,” Harry stands firm, as he bites his lip, his eyes watering as if he is on the verge of tears. Louis tightens his hands into fists to stop himself from hugging Harry, to comfort him in any way that he can. He has to start pulling away now because there is no way, in any scenario, that they will be together. It’s better for Harry if he doesn’t get anymore attached. Louis already knows he will die though, so Louis has nothing to lose. He is torn. 

“There isn’t. I’m open for suggestions, but there is no other way. If all four of us leave, we will get followed. I’ve been thinking about this since I left that meeting. None of us know shit about bombs, so we can’t do anything when they put the bomb vest on you,” Louis says, his voice taking on a pleading tone. If there was any other way, Louis would have thought of it by now. It’s all he has been able to think about for the last hour, all through the meeting and then after. 

“I’m pretty sure we will get followed if I leave too,” Harry points out, his voice holding none of the usual excitement it does when he responds to Louis with an excellent point. His tone is serious, his brows knitted together as if he is wracking his mind for another solution to their problem. Louis has tried to tell him that there is none, but maybe Harry needs to come to that conclusion on his own. Surely his will to live will override his desire to try to save Louis. Harry has said it before, Louis is nothing more than a criminal. If one of them has to die, it should be him. He has done enough heinous acts in his life to deserve it, so he isn’t sure why Harry is so hellbent on saving his life. 

“That’s why I’ll distract them,” Louis responds, trying really hard not to roll his eyes. He feels like they are having the same damn conversation over and over again because Harry is absolutely refusing to accept that Louis must die to save him. Louis is growing tired of it, but he knows that he has an hour to get used to this solution; Harry and the other two boys have only had a few minutes. They may have some ideas that Louis hasn’t thought of, but it’s doubtful. There really aren't that many options. 

“No. I’m not letting you do this. You may have taken choices away from us, but this one is mine. I’m not letting you sacrifice yourself. No. Louis, you can’t,” Harry says, crossing his arms over his chest again as a visual representation to show his refusal on this. Louis looks to Niall and Liam to back him up, but they keep their mouths closed, their gazes traveling from Louis to Harry as if the boys are in a tennis match, and they want to find out who wins. This match is life or death though, and neither of them will win. 

“What are the other options? There are none, Harry. This is the only way!” Louis’ voice rises, on the verge of yelling at him. Harry doesn't flinch this time though, and Louis can see in his eyes that they are going to continue to have this conversation. Louis wants to scream and shake him. They are losing fucking time. Harry has always stood firm, stubbornly stuck to his own notions. Louis wishes Harry would have left last night like Louis told him to. It would have been so much more simple, but then Louis would have never gotten to know Harry like he did. Louis is selfish because he wouldn’t trade it for anything. 

“Niall gets Liam out, now. When they leave, Niall can have a gun trained to his head to make it look like it’s real. They can go to the safe house or whatever, and you guys can tell Simon that he killed him. You take me to Simon tomorrow. I’ll get strapped with the vest, and we will go to my parents house,” Harry plans, and Louis is already shaking his head. He opens his mouth, but Harry cuts him off, already seeming to know what he is going to say, “We don’t know he is going to kill me. I’m sure my parents will give him what he asks for when they realize their own lives are in danger as well.” 

“He will kill you Harry,” Louis insists, his voice nearing a whine. Why won’t Harry understand that? Simon will kill him. A lot of what Simon said just didn’t add up, especially the part where he said he would blackmail Harry to keep him quiet. Louis doesn’t know how he could blackmail someone as perfect as Harry. His history is as spotless as a blank piece of paper, while Louis’ resembles a Rorschach Test. There is no way that Simon has something to blackmail Harry with, so the only other way to keep him quiet is death. 

“How do you know that?” Harry asks, his tone challenging. He looks at Louis expectantly, pretty much daring him to say it’s more than that. Maybe he wants Louis to give him more information as to why he feels that way. He doesn't really have much more information. He already knows Harry would confirm that he has nothing in his past for Simon to use, but he supposes he could ask. 

“I don’t. He just said something about using something to blackmail you so that you would keep your mouth shut about us. Do you have anything in your past that he could potentially blackmail you with?” Louis asks, watching Harry’s expression carefully. He looks confused for a split second before he looks to be considering it, as if he is wracking his brain for something. He is shaking his head though. “That’s what I thought. Simon could potentially be planning to use something on your family to keep you quiet, but I doubt it. That wouldn’t be enough since they didn’t even pay your ransom. That would not guarantee your compliance. It is just a feeling, but it’s rooted in facts.” 

“But it’s mostly a feeling. You don’t know he will kill me Louis, so my plan could work. It would mean we  _ all  _ survive,” Harry says, putting emphasis on the word ‘all’ like Louis doesn't understand the difference. Louis pauses, thinking about what he said. Louis begins shaking his head, almost frantically. The risk is too great. Louis cannot handle that. He cannot keep doing this. No. It has to stop. It stops now. 

“That’s not a chance I’m willing to take because I’m not letting you take the fall for this. You’ve been through enough. You had a good life, and I had to go fuck it up. I’m so fucking sorry for that. I didn’t know you. I didn’t know… Fuck. Let me do this, Harry. I need to keep you safe!” Louis is yelling now, begging Harry to understand that he has to do this. He doesn’t think about the fact that he has had the opportunity to get to know this victim, but the others? Would Louis have felt this guilty if he had known the others that he was ordered to kill in the name of his cause? Louis feels sick thinking about it. He needs to redeem himself. He cannot walk Harry into his death. He can’t. 

“Louis will you fucking listen to me!” Harry exclaims, his harsh tone and use of a curse word yanking Louis from his internal panic. He grabs Louis’ arms, shaking him. “I am not going to let you do this. I am not going to be the reason you sacrifice yourself. No. You’re not a bad person! I know this now, so you don’t have anything to fucking prove. We are doing this together. That is the only way because I will not leave with Niall. I don’t give a fuck if you hold a gun to my head, you will have to kill me. I will not leave with him tonight. I stay with you, and only you.” 

Harry’s green eyes are fierce with his speech, a fire behind them that Louis has only seen once before. When Harry was refusing to call him a monster last night in the shower. Louis can feel his bottom lip trembling, his eyes stinging with unshed tears. No one has ever looked at him the way Harry is looking at him now, as if Louis really matters. There is something hidden behind his eyes that has Louis’ heart skipping a beat, and more tears spring to his eyes. “Okay,” Louis concedes after a few moments, not being able to handle the look in Harry’s eyes any longer. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Louis hears Niall and Liam both sigh, almost as if they are relieved that Louis has finally conceded.

“So… um… do you want to invite the other boys over. Let them in on the plan? Maybe they will have some ideas on how to keep Harry safe?” Niall asks, clearing his throat, sufficiently breaking the silence that has fallen on them from their intense moment. Louis blinks, the rest of the room coming back into focus. He was so absorbed in his conversation with Harry that he had almost forgotten the other boys were there to witness it. The room is spinning, as if, when his world started back into motion, the inertia threw him off balance. 

“Yeah. I’ll call Ashton, tell him and Luke to come over. I’ll make up some reason in case Simon is listening. Niall, you can leave tonight with Liam, maybe hold a gun to his head or something for effect like Harry suggested. Ashton and Luke can follow behind you to make it look like they are helping. Can you all search the house and make sure Simon didn’t bug this place? We can’t keep music on forever. We shouldn’t raise any more suspicions. I need to do everything in my power to be on this mission tomorrow,” Louis plans, the feeling of apprehension wrapping around him, smothering him. 

“Got it,” Niall says, and the rest of the boys nod. Louis grabs his phone, turning off the music, quickly finding Ashton’s contact since he has him on his speed dial list. He takes a deep breath, trying to think of some kind of excuse. He glances over at the pizza, but he feels nauseated. He’s not sure if it’s because of the current situation or the fact that he hasn’t eaten anything all day. It’s already late into the afternoon. He watches as the other boys begin poking around his house, Ashton answering on the first ring. 

__________

“So… that’s where we are with the plan. Unless either of you are bomb experts, we don’t have many other options since Harry is refusing to leave,” Louis says, finishing his story and gesturing towards Harry. Louis seemed to have skimmed over some of the finer details, but most of it was there. They are all sitting in Louis’ living room, eating cold pizza as Louis fills Ashton and Luke in on their plan, or lack thereof. Ashton has been listening intently while Luke seems a bit distracted. They are sitting beside each other, Luke with a hand on Ashton’s knee. Louis wasn’t kidding when he said they were attached at the hip. Harry is curious about them though, not having gotten to know them at all. 

“Yeah. I don’t really have any ideas that you all haven’t already thrown around to be honest. Is there anything Lukey or I could do?” Ashton asks, gesturing towards his blond haired friend. Luke perks up at the mention of his name, his blue eyes becoming alight once more. He nods in agreeance, so Harry supposes he isn’t bad. Maybe he just has a lot on his mind. Louis did just give him a lot of information to digest, and everyone processes things differently. 

“Not really. Simon didn’t mention bringing anyone else yesterday. Just… if he asks, say that we invited you over so you could help Niall kill Liam. You all were here for a while before he left with Liam because we all discussed a new operation or something. Be vague. You’re one of the best liars I know, Ash. I’m sure you can handle it,” Louis says, with a flirtatious hint to his tone. Harry tells himself he’s not jealous. He’s not. He knows that Louis and Ashton are just friends. Louis has told him as much countless times, but there is just something about the way they interact. It grinds against Harry’s skin. He barely stops himself from placing an arm around Louis’ shoulders to lay claim. 

“Oh yes. I can definitely handle that,” Ashton responds, eyes traveling over Louis’ body. Harry has the sudden urge to growl. He glances at Luke, his expression mirroring Harry’s so much, his eyes may as well be green with jealousy. It’s as if Ashton and Louis don’t even notice it, too busy joking around. Luke looks more angry than Harry, as if steam is going to come out of his ears at any moment. He loops an arm around Ashton’s shoulders, pulling the other man into his side. Ashton goes easily, continuing on as if his words hadn’t affected anyone, “We all know I’m a wordsmith of sorts.” 

“Yes. Yes. That’s your favorite phrase,” Louis laughs, the tinkle filling up the room. Harry kind of hates that Ashton makes him laugh so easily. Harry can make him laugh too, he just… doesn’t. Not as much at least. They haven’t had a lot of opportunity for laughter given the dire circumstances that have surrounded them from the beginning, but Harry is sure he could make Louis laugh if the occasion called for it. He’s funny. 

“Do you think you’ll come out of this alive?” Ashton asks, this tone suddenly devoid of all amusement, replaced by concern. Louis stops smiling immediately, his blue eyes looking past Ashton as he considers the question. The mood in the room suddenly changes, the temperature feeling as though it has dropped seventeen degrees. Harry shivers. Reaching to grab the blanket that is usually draped over the back of the couch. He covers himself up, Louis nudging closer to share the blanket and his warmth. Harry takes a bite of the pizza, but it churns in his stomach. Not because it’s bad, but because the tension is suddenly so pliable, it is causing his body to have a physical reaction. 

“I’m not sure. I’m not worried about myself coming out of this alive. Whatever happens to me, I'm sure I deserve it in some way. I’m more worried about Harry. I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure he survives tomorrow,” Louis responds, his voice strong and sure as he looks at Ashton. He then glances over at Harry, a small smile playing across his face, but it’s a sad one. Harry knows that Louis is just pretending he is okay with dying. It’s all a façade. Louis doesn’t want to die anymore than Harry, however he is willing to sacrifice himself, and Harry just can’t understand why. Harry doesn't think himself as worth Louis’ sacrifice. 

“If it was your last day on Earth, how would you spend it?” Luke asks suddenly, blue eyes staring off into the distance, almost as if he sees something that Harry can’t yet. He blinks a few times, eyes finally focusing in order to look at the faces around the room as if he is waiting for an answer. Harry is shocked by the question. For the last week, he’s had to come to terms with death. No one wants to die, but it’s inevitable. He never thought that he would know when he would die though, so it is a good question. If he could choose how to spend his last day, how would he? He glances over at Louis, wondering what his answer will be. 

“Hmm…” Ashton starts, glancing over at Luke. “I think I’d want a nice winter wonderland with Lukey. We’d go ice skating, and then go to see some penguins at the zoo. Luke loves penguins. Then maybe get dinner or a smoothie after.” His hazel eyes are far away, as if living his last day. For some reason, Harry just wasn’t expecting something so normal from Ashton. The man is sort of intimidating, even though he is about the same height as Harry and several inches shorter than Luke. Harry thinks it’s sort of romantic that Ashton would want to spend the day doing something that Luke clearly loves. Who would have thought he is a softie at heart. 

“I think I’d just want to spend it with my brother and Ash. I don’t really care what we do,” Luke says, and it almost sounds like a lie or maybe not the whole truth. Harry doesn't understand why he would feel the need to lie since he is the one that asked the question. If the way Ashton’s body stiffens when Luke mentions his brother is anything to go by, then it probably has something to do with him. Does Ashton not like Luke’s brother? Harry wants to know more, but it’s rude to pry. 

“What about you, Ni?” Ashton asks, as if he wants to change the subject as quickly as possible. Harry looks around the room, but no one else seems phased at the mention of Luke’s brother. It seems like most of these boys don’t really have families, so it is odd to Harry that Luke mentioned his brother. Maybe he is still close to his family, or maybe his brother is also in their organization, but that doesn't explain why Ashton doesn’t seem to like him. 

“Me? Oh. Umm, I think I’d want to find my mom and tell her that I forgive her. I mean, I don't know if she’s still alive, but I always wondered if the thought of me weighed on her. You know? So yeah. I think I’d want to find her and tell her I forgive her for all of that shit, then maybe take her to lunch. I just hope she’s not too high to remember me,” Niall answers, his voice sad as he finds a spot on the rug particularly fascinating before he looks over at Louis. Harry wasn’t expecting such a serious answer from Niall. He has always struck Harry as a bit of a jokester, always making light of sad situations, but Harry guesses they all have their demons. He is slowly starting to really understand that, though. 

“My turn? Oh. Humm…” Louis looks at Harry as he thinks, and Harry maybe stops breathing. He really wants to know Louis’ answer for some reason. Well Harry knows the reason, even if he is ignoring it. “I think I’d just want to go skateboarding or something fun. I wouldn’t want to spend the entire time thinking about how it’s my last day. I usually go skateboarding when I need to think or to not think at all, so I... yeah. That’s what I’d do. Go skateboarding. What about you, Hazza?” 

Skateboarding allows Louis to think or to forget. No wonder he went skateboarding after their first kiss. Harry wonders if Louis wanted to think that day or to forget. He thinks it may be the former, but Harry doesn't have time to consider it because Louis’ blue eyes are on him in the next moment, sparkling with what Harry believes may be curiosity. Harry thinks about the question, not really having thought about it before. “I think I’d just want to paint. I find painting relaxing, and I love the creativity it brings. So yeah, I think I’d just paint something heartbreakingly beautiful.” 

Harry can’t stop his gaze from finding Louis with his last sentence. Ashton is nodding along, as if he understands, and Harry briefly wonders if the other man paints. Then all eyes are on Liam waiting for his answer. Liam’s eyes are cast down, a red tinge on his cheeks as if he is embarrassed about what he is getting ready to say. Harry’s curiosity is spiked. In the past week, he has gotten to know Liam better. His likes, dislikes, and hobbies, but Harry doesn’t feel like he knows him enough to be able to guess what his answer will be. Liam looks at all of the waiting gazes and clears his throat. 

“I- I know this is sort of lame, but I would want to spend it watching The Little Mermaid. It was my mom’s favorite movie, and it would feel like I would be spending my last day with her,” Liam answers, his voice small. He looks around the room, almost as if he is expecting them to give him shit. None of the boys do though because they all seem to know what it would mean to him. Harry knows for a fact that Louis recently found out about losing his mom, then Niall mentioned not really having one. He doesn't know about Luke or Ashton, but they say nothing. 

“That’s not lame at all. How old were you when you lost her?” Louis speaks up, his voice soft. Harry wants to hug him for it. Louis is just so kind, even though Louis himself can’t see it. He cares so much about the people in his life. He may not give a fuck about the drug dealer he beat up a couple of days ago, or the rapist he murdered, but he cares about his friends. All Harry has ever wanted was someone to care about him, and Louis does. 

“I was ten. She committed sucide. As a kid, I didn't understand why my mom would choose to leave me. I still don’t. She was a great mom. I remember her so well. I was adopted pretty quickly by a really nice family, so I feel lucky in that way,” Liam tells them, his eyes shiny with unshed tears. He sniffles, clearly trying not to cry in front of them. Harry almost cries hearing the story, having no idea the trauma that Liam had gone through. That must have been so difficult for him. Harry couldn’t even imagine. 

“Maybe that’s why I couldn’t find any information on you,” Luke says, and Harry thinks it was meant to be more to himself. They all look in his direction, and his cheeks tint red at his outburst. He smiles shyly, and Ashton shakes his head, smacking him on the knee. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound rude. I’m really sorry for your loss. That must have been so fucking rough at such a young age. What I meant was that when we first kidnapped you all, I couldn’t find any information about you, Liam. Like nothing. It was so strange because I can usually dig up whatever I want. It was almost as if you didn’t exist before you turned 18.”

“Yeah, that is weird. I swear I existed though. Maybe it does have something to do with the adoption. My adoptive parents are really secretive sometimes, so yeah. Maybe they asked for it not to be in public records or something. That could be it,” Liam says, with a shrug, and Harry nods because it sounds reasonable. Liam started working at his dad’s company when he was around the age of 18. Harry didn’t meet him until much later, but it’s something they’ve discussed. Maybe working for a public company was the first thing they were allowed to release. Harry has no idea how these things work, but it sounds logical. 

“Hey. Let’s watch, The Little Mermaid! In honor of Liam’s mom,” Louis suggests, his eyes lighting up with the idea. Harry looks at Liam, who is smiling so wide at the proposal.Harry can’t stop his own expression from mirroring that of his friend’s as his gaze finds Louis. Instead of Louis getting up from the couch, Ashton detangles from Luke on the love seat. He quickly finds the movie in question, popping the Blu-ray into one of Louis’ gaming systems before he goes into the kitchen to get Luke more pizza, as the man has requested. 

They spend the next hour and half watching a Disney princess movie, all the men in the room shamelessly singing along to the songs. They harmonize perfectly, Harry realizing very quickly that there are some really good voices surrounding him. Harry has heard Louis sing before as he drove them on their first ‘field trip’, but it was nice to watch him sing again. Harry notices that when Louis wants to sing loudly or belt out a note, he places a small hand on his diaphragm, right below his rib cage. It’s adorable. 

It’s the first movie Harry has watched in years, and he doesn't remember ever having so much fun. At some point, Niall got up to make popcorn, having come back with three bowls. Louis then proceeded to throw the salty snack at the TV every time the sea witch came on screen, Ashton quickly following suit, making both Harry and Luke giggle at their antics. He feels like he could be himself when he is curled into Louis. At first, their cuddling received odd looks from Luke and Ashton, but eventually they seemed to understand that something had shifted between the two. 

After the movie, they decide they want to play Mario Kart on one of Louis’ gaming systems. Harry is shocked by how quickly Liam is willing to play, obviously having played it before. Harry watches as they all expertly manervour the controls, not even needing to look down at the buttons as they play, exchanging good natured jabs when one person hits another with what Harry believes is some sort of tortoise shell. Harry has never played a video game in his life and feels a little left out watching everyone else play. He is somewhat used to this feeling though, so he pushes it aside. 

“Do you want a turn next?” Louis asks after he wins the race. He looks at Harry when he doesn't get a response right away. Harry doesn't know how to answer. He is a little ashamed to admit that he doesn’t exactly know  _ how  _ to play. He looks down, hoping Louis gets the hint. “Do you not know how to play?” Louis’ voice is barely above a whisper, and Harry looks up to see that Louis has leaned in closer so the others couldn’t hear his second question. Harry shakes his head, not wanting to say the words out loud. 

“Alright boys. Harry is playing the next round. He has never played this game before, so I will teach him. He will be whooping your asses in no time with me as a teacher,” Louis says, his voice loud over the chatter of the room. Ashton bursts out laughing, rolling his eyes because he seems to be the most competitive out of everyone, next to Louis that is. Liam is more competitive than Harry would have guessed, and Niall and Luke both seemed to just want to have fun, regardless of who won. Harry doesn’t know if he is competitive because he has never really had to compete against anyone. 

Before he knows it, he and Louis have made their way to the floor, pushing the coffee table and discarded popcorn bits out of the way. Harry is sitting in the V of Louis’ legs and is nervously holding the controller, telling himself not to shake as Louis explains what each button does, patiently answering Harry’s questions. After Louis is satisfied with Harry’s answers on the pop quiz about controllers, he decides Harry is ready for his first race. Louis wraps his warm arms around him, placing his much smaller hands over Harry’s which are currently holding the controller anxiously. When the virtual race begins, Louis’ fingers begin guiding Harry’s. 

“Don’t fucking cheat you dick bag,” Louis shouts, not looking at Niall, who the words were apparently meant for. Harry looks back at him for a split second, a smile playing on his lips. Louis continues to shout obscenities to his friends as he continues to help Harry use the controller properly. When Harry manages to finish third, Louis cheers as if he has won a gold medal. His happiness is infectious, and Harry briefly wonders if he did win a gold medal because Louis is golden. He hasn’t won Louis though. He will never get the chance. 

“Not bad Styles,” Ashton says, with a huge grin as if he is just as proud of Harry for his achievement. Harry knows it means nothing. It’s just a video game, but for some reason it feels like so much more. He wonders if this is what friendship feels like. He’s not sure, but he thinks this is what it would feel like. There are no expectations. Harry doesn’t have to censor himself, or feel the need to join in on a party he wasn’t even invited to. He can just be Harry, and maybe that’s who he has always been. The answer to his question seems to have been simple all along. He’s Harry. 

“Yeah. Not bad at all. We just need to work on your smack talk,” Louis agrees with a smile of his own. A moment later, Harry feels firm lips on his cheek. Louis had kissed him, right where his dimple is, and Harry sort of wants to swoon. Instead he laughs at Louis’ jab, and he’s just so happy in that moment. He feels like he is flying. He didn’t know he could fly, but now he does. Louis makes him fly. Louis gives him wings, and Harry is on the verge of jumping into oblivion to test those wings out. He doesn't want to think about the fact that he could die tomorrow, or he will probably never see Louis again. He just wants to fly for now. 

“Ready to play without the training wheels?” Louis asks, taking the controller Liam has given him. Harry nods, but he’s unsure. Louis smiles, and for some reason that makes Harry think he can do it. They reposition themselves. Harry laying back against Louis’ chest, his curls draping over Louis’ shoulder. Louis holds his controller right under Harry’s controller, apparently not needing to see the buttons while they play. They start the game, Harry playing against Louis, Luke, and Ashton. 

“You fucking asshole!” Ashton exclaims when Louis releases a banana peel as soon as Ashton drives up behind him to pass him. This is Harry’s fourth game now, and he finally feels like he has some idea on how to play this game. It’s actually really fun, and Harry finds himself becoming competitive with it. His goal is to beat Louis, which he hasn’t done yet. 

“Suck my dick, Irwin!” Louis shouts, moving with his driver on the game, as if that will somehow help him. Harry laughs because his body has to move too, since it is attached to Louis right now. 

“Gladly. I’ve been asking to for years,” Ashton responds, and Harry isn’t even a little bit phased by the comment. Harry has come to learn that Louis and Ashton flirt with each other. It’s like they don’t even notice they are doing it, and they can’t help it. Luke, however, accidentally drives his character's car off the rainbow road with Ashton’s flirtatious comeback. 

“Now boys, there is no need to bring the sucking of extremities into your smack talk. Keep it clean,” Harry says, attempting to diffuse the situation. Louis smiles and rolls his eyes, but Luke still looks somewhat upset. Harry is beginning to get angry after another lap, his blood pumping in exhilaration. It’s just very difficult not to drop off the side of the damn road. 

“You’re a fucking asshole. Fuck you, Louis,” Harry exclaims when Louis purposefully hits him with a tortoise shell to gain first place. 

“Oh, my boy has a foul mouth suddenly. If you want to fuck me though, I’m up for it,” Louis responds, smiling at Harry’s use of language. Harry doesn't care about his language anymore. It was stupid of him to care about it in the first place. These people aren’t going to judge him for saying certain words. He can say whatever he pleases.

“Sometimes, curse words are the only possible way to express oneself. If you wanted me to fuck you, Louis, all you had to do was ask,” Harry says, his voice low and deep with his last statement, but his cheeks heating with embarrassment. Louis is so caught off guard by it, he drives right off the road, surrendering first place to Harry. The game ends shortly after. Harry giggles in glee when he finishes first, Louis close behind him, but he looks so happy that Harry is happy. Ashton throws his controller when he realizes he finished in third place. Well he didn’t really throw it, he just let it fall to the floor forcefully. Luke finishes fourth, but he doesn’t seem to care. He looks sad again, and Harry wonders why. 

“Wanna play another game, babe?” Ashton asks, looking at Luke. The smile falls from his face when he reads Luke’s melancholy expression. Harry noticed the shift in Luke as soon as Ashton said his playful remark towards Louis. Harry understands his jealousy. He has been jealous over Ashton since the moment Ashton put his arm around Louis to help him when he was concussed. 

“Nah. I think I’m gonna go meet Riley. He wanted to go out tonight,” Luke says, already standing up from the couch. Ashton’s face falls even more at his icy tone. Harry wants to ask what the hell his problem is, but it isn’t his place. Louis also appears concerned, shooting a confused look in Ashton’s direction. The other man doesn't notice though, his eyes trained on Luke like they are most of the time. 

“I didn’t know you had plans with him tonight,” Ashton responds, and Harry knows he is trying to sound casual, but it comes out on the verge of anger. Harry finds himself wondering who Riley is and why it makes Ashton so angry. Is it jealousy? He makes a mental note to ask Louis, but Louis doesn't seem to know either. He looks just as confused as Harry feels. 

“Yeah. I don’t tell you everything,” Luke mumbles, and Ashton looks hurt for a split second before he covers it. The tension is back in the room, so tight, it makes Harry feel incredibly awkward. He wants to leave the room so he can breathe again. 

“Oh. Well, hold up. I’ll go with,” Ashton says, quickly standing up from the couch. 

“Wait. Weren’t y’all supposed to follow me out? You know, to make it seem like we are leaving to kill Liam,” Niall asks, also standing up. “We can leave now, though. If we stay any longer, it may look suspicious.” 

“Oh yeah. Well... lead the way,” Luke says, gesturing towards the front door. They all say their goodbyes. Harry hugs Liam, trying to hold back tears because he’s sure this is the last time he will ever see his friend again. He wishes he would have made an effort to get to know him better. He has always been nice to Harry, listening to him bitch and moan about being lonely when Liam was right there to be his friend. Harry took his friendship for granted and promises himself never again, if he gets out of this alive. 

Ashton, Luke and Niall hug Louis probably for the same reasons Harry had hugged Liam. They all say goodbye as if they are going to see each other the next day, but their hugs linger. There is something unspoken between them that makes Harry’s heart tight, and not with the tension Luke and Ashton’s disagreement had put into the room. This is heavier. It reminds Harry of the day he and Gemma found out about their nanny dying. The very air in the room feels like it is made of lead, and Harry can’t quite take in a whole breath. 

After the boys leave, things are quiet between Harry and Louis. Harry feels like he has a lot to say, but can’t bring himself to say any of it. They clean up the mess the boys left behind. Without even asking to make sure it’s okay, Harry follows Louis into his room. Louis doesn't say anything, so Harry assumes he is fine with it. Harry wants to sigh in relief. He couldn’t imagine sleeping alone tonight. They get undressed and climb in bed, turning the lights off a moment later. 

Harry opens his mouth to say something at least 7.3 times, but always closes it again. Thankfully it’s dark or Louis would surely think he is practicing his fish impression. Where Harry was soaring before, now he feels as though he has crash landed in the dark abyss, allowing it to swallow him whole. What is he supposed to say? Even though you kidnapped me, you showed me the world? Before you, I was surrounded by things, but I was always so alone? I have never felt alone once in the past few days? If you were such a horrible monster, then how did you give me wings? 

Harry doesn’t say any of those things, he just grabs Louis’ body, pulling him closer. Louis doesn’t hesitate, wrapping one arm around Harry’s torso, the other hand tangling in his hair. Harry buries his face in Louis’ chest, breathing him in and hoping the man doesn’t feel the wetness from his tears. This may be the last time he will get to feel Louis around him. They have tomorrow. That’s all. Tomorrow, then everything changes. Everything has changed already. Harry has changed. 

Harry tries not to think about what tomorrow will bring. He can hear the steady and strong beat of Louis’ heart against his ear. A tear travels down his face at the idea of that very same heart stopping tomorrow because of him. Harry doesn't know if he will be able to live with himself if Louis dies. He doesn’t know if he wants to because Louis has shown him life. Harry doesn’t want to think about this. He doesn't want to come to terms with their harsh reality, so he pushes it from his mind. He pretends the world around them doesn’t exist, that their situation isn’t hopeless. Soon after, he falls into a fitful sleep, dreaming of flying and freedom. Dreaming of Louis. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See I can totally end a chapter as not even sort of kind of a cliffhanger. You're welcome... so... maybe forgive me for later?


	12. Tip of my Tongue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Louis try to run from time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much to say... can't believe we are almost at the end 
> 
> A quick thank my two betas, Dana and Linda, for reading this fic and putting up with my constant questioning of my sanity. This one was hard, even for them, so a huge thank you is in order. They are amazing friends, and I love them dearly. 
> 
> If you're interested in supporting me as a writer, please look at my [author website](https://lmarcherofficial.com/%20rel=). 
> 
> There is also a [Spotify Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1l6QjjLoOIRPOCgZt8d4YV?si=8kwH6LpvQzik8AfjPVMPIw) that will be updated weekly with the songs represented as chapter titles as well as any other songs I feel fit with the emotions/theme of the chapter.

_You're a red string tied to my finger_   
_A little love letter I carry with me_   
_You're sun light, smoke rings and cigarettes_   
_Old lines and kisses from silver screens_   
_Oh dear, never saw you coming_   
_Oh my, look what you have done_   
_You're my favorite song- The Civil Wars_

Harry wakes up slowly. He can see the sunlight behind his eyelids, and knows it’s morning. It takes him a moment to remember the events of the night before. What Louis came home to say, then their plan. Today is their last day together, maybe even their last day on Earth. Harry’s eyes pop open with that thought, frantically feeling around in the bed, finding it cold and empty. He sits up, looking around the room, not seeing Louis anywhere. 

Panic grips his heart, scenarios running through his brain at high speed. Did Louis leave because Harry isn’t worth the trouble? Did Simon come and kill him while Harry slept, and he slept through it? He knows both thoughts are completely ridiculous, but he can’t stop them from coming, more outlandish scenarios making their way to the forefront of his mind. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself. Just as he is about to get out of the bed, the door opens. Harry holds his breath, afraid of who it might be. In the next moment, he sees Louis’ smiling face behind the opening door. 

“Damn I was hoping to be back before you woke up,” Louis says, walking into the room. He is wearing a simple white t-shirt with a pair of skinny jeans. His feet are bare, and he is holding a bag of takeout in one hand and a carrier with two hot coffees in the other. He sits the coffees down on the bedside table beside Harry. 

“Did you leave?” Harry asks, confused. Louis grabs one of the coffees, handing it to Harry. It smells devine, and Harry takes a sip, recognizing the taste of almond milk right away. 

“Yeah. Since I didn’t have you with me, they gave me very little trouble. I did have someone tailing me, though. Hope they found me going to a store then a little cafe fascinating,” Louis responds, with a smirk and an eye roll. 

“Why did you need to go to the store?” Harry asks, his curiosity getting the better of him. 

“We will get to that… but first, breakfast.” Louis holds up the bag with a wide smile before handing it to Harry. Louis sits down on the bed in front of him, Harry moving his legs to accommodate Louis’ new position. Harry opens the bag carefully, almost afraid of what he will find. He pulls out the top takeout container, it says ‘Haz’ in Louis’ messy handwriting. Harry traces the nickname for a second, a small smile playing on his lips. He then opens the container, not being able to keep the surprise from his expression. 

“I think you said something about liking avocado on toast, and I wanted to get you something you like. I asked Luke, and he said this place had the best avocado on toast in town. So that’s where I went. I got myself something, too. Your coffee is a caramel latte made with almond milk. It sounded like something you’d like,” Louis rushes out, the sentences all strung together with duct tape and anxiety. Harry thinks it's sort of cute that Louis went to all of this trouble to make sure he is satisfied with breakfast. It’s a stark contrast to the first time Louis brought him food. It makes his chest warm and his stomach flutter with butterflies. 

“Thank you. This is really sweet. It also looks delicious. You didn’t have to go through all that trouble. I could have made something,” Harry says, picking up one of the slices of toast and taking a bite. It's delicious, better than the avocado on toast Harry gets from his favorite restaurant. He would ask Louis where he got it from, but it doesn't matter. Nothing will be the same by the end of the day. That thought has Harry’s heart pausing in his chest, a painful stutter. He blinks a few times, deciding to concentrate on something else.

“Niall texted me. Everything is fine. He took Liam to the safe house last night. They weren’t tailed or anything. So you don’t have to worry about your friend.” Louis’ voice is chipper, too chipper. It’s forced, and Harry kind of hates it. He catches Louis’s eyes, taking a deep breath. 

“That’s good. I’m glad, but Louis, you don’t have to act all positive with me. I know our situation is well… it’s shit to put it bluntly. I know we may not survive tonight. I’m aware of that. I understand wanting to pretend, but you don’t have to pretend with me. If anyone understands, it’s me. So can we just spend the day not putting on a fake show for each other? Like we don’t have to talk about it, but let’s not pretend it’s a normal day. Let’s just try to make the best of what could be our last day on Earth,” Harry says, his voice soft with his little speech. Louis doesn’t maintain eye contact, looking down at his food guiltily. 

“Yeah. You’re right. I know that you’re aware of the severity. I just feel like I need to protect you. Like I said yesterday, this whole thing is my fault. Before, I wanted to show you the harshness of the world, but now I want to protect you. You’re so pure, Harry. I’ve never met anyone like you. I’ve never met anyone that wasn’t jaded by the world. You’re not, though, and I feel like I’ve taken that innocence from you,” Louis responds, still not meeting Harry’s gaze, eyes still fixated on his food. Harry’s heart flutters at Louis’ words. It makes him so happy that Louis doesn't see him as just a spoiled brat anymore. 

“You don’t need to protect me,” Harry starts, hooking his finger under Louis’ chin and tilting his head up, forcing him to meet his eyes. Louis’ expression is unreadable, and Harry finds himself wondering, not for the first time, what the other man is thinking. Harry continues, “I’m actually glad I met you. I know you probably don’t believe me, but I’m glad you’ve shown the world for what it is. I needed it. I needed to be removed from my little bubble. You were right about a lot of it. Before you, I had a filter over the world, and I avoided anything that made me uncomfortable. I’ve learned that it’s good to be uncomfortable sometimes.” 

“I’m glad I kidnapped you,” Louis starts, and Harry can’t stop himself from laughing at how crazy that statement sounds. Louis laughs as well, the tinkle weaving through the rays of sunlight in the bedroom to make everything appear brighter, “No, really, even though you’ve been a pain in my ass, you’ve taught me a lot, too. Like what it means to be selfless and passionate. I’ve never met anyone as passionate as you, or anyone that sees the beauty in the world like you do.”

“I like being a pain in your ass. Maybe I can be a real pain in your ass later,” Harry jokes, looking up at Louis from underneath his eyelashes. He feels embarrassed to have made such a dirty joke, his cheeks heating with the comment. He doesn’t make sexual innuendos very often, finding them childish, but Louis’ makes him feel young again. Which is kind of ridiculous since he is still pretty young, but he’s never felt like he was allowed to act young. When he’s with Louis, he feels like he found the youth he lost. Like it’s okay to be stupid or immature and not have to worry about being reprimanded for his actions. It’s nice. 

“Maybe later. I have a plan for us after we eat,” Louis responds, a big smile on his face. It makes Harry feel a lot better about his joke, but his ears perk up at not only the mention of doing something sexual later but also whatever Louis has planned. 

“What’s that?” Harry asks, finally taking another bite of his avocado on toast. It tastes so good, he moans. Louis is looking at him with a bemused smile, and Harry quickly drops the food back into the to-go container, grabbing a napkin to cover his mouth as he talks, “I’m sorry. It’s just so good. Tell Luke he has great taste in food.” 

“I’m not saying, but you will see soon enough,” Louis says, taking a bite of his own meal. They eat in silence for a while, just enjoying each other's company. Harry still feels like there is a giant elephant in the room, the huge, looming creature taking up every available inch of the space, leaving Harry feeling as though he can’t actually breathe. He tries to push the thoughts of later out of his mind, wanting to enjoy what he can. They can’t change the inevitable by worrying about it. 

“I don’t know how you can eat that. It looks like mashed up grass,” Louis breaks the silence, scrunching his nose at Harry’s meal. Harry laughs at his cute, almost child-like expression. 

“Have you ever tried avocados?” Harry asks, studying Louis. He stops moving completely, his normal fidgety behavior halting with the question. 

“Obviously. Genuinely hated it. Disgusting really.” Louis diverts his eyes with his rambling answer, even though it’s not even a real answer. It was a yes or no question. Harry didn’t need ten sentences to convince him or words like ‘obviously’ and ‘genuinely’. His voice almost too sure, lacking any of his normal jest. 

“You’re lying. I can tell,” Harry says, his voice deadpan as he stares Louis down. Louis opens his mouth to object, but Harry cuts him off, “You stop moving when you lie. It’s like you’re trying to concentrate on making the lie convincing. When you aren’t telling the whole truth, you usually look away or look at your hands, fidgeting just a tiny bit. You also try to make yourself sound too sure, your tone changes, and you ramble, like you’re trying to convince not only me, but yourself as well.” Louis looks shocked by Harry’s observation. 

“You know, you would be very good in my line of work. We could use more people that can spot a lie,” Louis responds, smiling, and Harry can feel himself blushing for whatever reason. He has never thought about how he would perform in Louis’ line of work. He never thought he would consider it, but the more he learns, the less judgemental he is about it. Especially since Louis does a lot for people who need it. Harry could do that. He may even be able to handle some of the violence. Harry quickly stops that train of thought, pushing it from his mind forever. 

“Try it,” Harry says, holding up half of his second piece of toast, avocado smeared on top. 

“Eww. No thank you.” Louis scrunches his nose again, and it’s so cute Harry wants to cry. Louis probably doesn’t even realize how cute he is. It’s so funny to Harry. He is sitting in bed, eating, with a hardened criminal. A man who has tortured people, but he scrunches his nose up at some avocado. The situation is almost laughable, but Harry really couldn’t image himself wanting to be anywhere else. If this really is his last day on Earth, there is literally nowhere else he would rather be. 

“Come on, try it,” Harry insists, holding the food close to Louis’ face. Louis shakes his head, and Harry pushes his bottom lip out into a pout, making his eyes bigger and looking up through his eyelashes. “Please,” he begs, putting a tiny bit of a whine into his tone for good measure. 

“Fine,” Louis finally responds, rolling his eyes. Harry can’t stop his features from morphing into a wide grin, and he knows his dimples are on full display. He doesn't care. He just pouted his way into getting Louis to try something he was clearly against. For some reason, it feels like a victory. Like maybe Louis is developing a soft spot for him like he has for his other friends. Too bad they will never be able to explore it. 

Louis begins reaching for it, but Harry shakes his head, slowly guiding the toast to Louis’ lips. Louis acts like he isn’t going to open his mouth for a split second, but Harry pouts a tiny bit more, and Louis gives in quickly. Harry guides the corner inside Louis’ open mouth, and he bites off a piece. Harry pulls away, waiting for Louis’ reaction. At first, Louis looks disgusted, but the more he chews the more pleased he seems. Harry smirks, his expression very much saying ‘I told you so’. 

“Okay.. that’s not the worst thing I’ve had in my mouth,” Louis concedes after he swallows, and Harry can’t stop his mind from bringing up the images of Louis swallowing his come after he had swiped his finger through it. Harry suppresses a groan, pushing the very naughty thought from his mind. He hopes they get to do that at least once more before they leave the house for good. 

“Oh come on. You liked it!” Harry exclaims, rolling his eyes and taking another bite from where Louis had just eaten. 

“It wasn’t horrible. I think it’s more so the texture for me,” Louis admits, smiling at Harry almost as if he can’t help it. “Wanna try some of mine?” Louis asks a moment later, pointing down at his take out. 

“What is it?” Harry asks, peering inside. 

“I don’t actually know. It looked good, so I got it,” Louis responds with a shrug, and Harry giggles. “I think it’s a hippie take on eggs benedict, but I could be wrong. It’s good.” Harry agrees, it looks good, the yolk of the perfectly poached egg broken and spilling onto the rest of the food. Harry’s mouth waters. He nods, and Louis slowly gathers a bite onto his fork, making sure to get a little bit of everything. He guides the fork into Harry’s open mouth, and Harry closes it. It feels oddly erotic when Louis slowly pulls the tines of the fork from between Harry’s lips. 

“That is really good,” Harry says, after he chews. Louis smiles, and they spend the rest of their breakfast sharing more bites with each other and drinking their coffees. 

“Now that you have a full belly, get dressed and come downstairs for a surprise,” Louis says, gathering their trash up into his hands and exiting the room. Harry looks around, finding that Louis had brought the GUCCI bags into the room for him, sitting them in front of the dresser. Harry had almost forgotten what he bought that day, looking through the bags with renewed curiosity. Harry decides he doesn't want to wear any of it, though. Instead, he looks through Louis’ drawers to find a pair of comfortable shorts and a t-shirt. He’s gotten used to being surrounded by the smell of Louis, and he would prefer to spend the day that way. 

Louis doesn’t ask why Harry didn’t wear any of his own clothes when he walks downstairs dressed in Louis’ things. He just looks at him with wide eyes for a second before he breaks into a big smile of approval. “Sit down,” Louis instructs, and Harry does as asked, sitting down on the couch where Louis gestured. A few seconds later, Louis produces a bag out of nowhere, sitting it in Harry’s lap. Harry opens it quickly, finding a shoe box. 

“I know they aren’t Gucci or whatever, but Gucci doesn't make the kind of shoes you need for today’s plans,” Louis rambles, and Harry can already tell he’s nervous. He’s not looking into Harry’s eyes, and he’s fidgeting, his words coming out quick and jumbled. Harry runs his finger over the logo on the box, recognizing it as Nike. 

“Why did you get me shoes?” Harry questions, but Louis doesn’t answer. Instead he looks like he is going to explode at any minute, so Harry just smiles up at him before he looks back down at the box, slowly opening it. Inside, Harry finds a pair of black and white shoes. He holds them up, finding them very light in his hand. 

“They’re skate shoes. I know they aren’t your style exactly, but they should be your size. I checked your loafers to make sure I got it right. They need to fit you,” Louis explains, each word coming out quicker than the last. Harry is still confused, though. He has never really worn skating shoes, not unless he counts ice skates. He’s pretty sure those don’t count, though. 

“Why do I need skate shoes?” Harry asks, brows drawn as he looks up at Louis. The other man rolls his blue eyes, a small smile on his face as if he thinks Harry should have figured it out by now. 

“Because I’m teaching you how to skateboard,” Louis answers, smiling wide as if the idea is brilliant. That makes Harry even more confused, though. 

“How? We can’t leave the house, Lou.” 

“I know that, Harold. We are going to the basement,” Louis responds, as if it is so obvious. 

“You have a basement?” Harry asks, wracking his brain for some sort of memory of a basement being shown to him. He doesn't even think he has seen a door that could lead to one. Louis’ washer and dryer are in the room the back door leads into. He cannot recall ever seeing a basement. 

“Yeah. I’ve had it the entire time. I didn’t just build it this morning while you were asleep,” Louis explains with a chuckle and pointing in the direction where Harry assumes the door is to the basement. “I never felt the need to show you because there is nothing down there. It’s unfinished, but the ceilings are high, so I use it to practice skateboarding tricks when it’s too cold to be outside. Now put these on, then your new shoes.” Louis throws a pair of white socks on his lap, and Harry thinks he may have the same pair at home. He usually wears them to work out in. 

“Why are you teaching me to ride a skateboard, though?” Harry asks, pulling the right sock on then the right shoe first. He never thought he would learn to skateboard. He will never admit it to Louis, but he has always been fascinated by the activity. He would see kids doing it occasionally on the streets. It looked like it could be a lot of fun, even though it’s dangerous. 

“Because I figured we could do something fun if this is my last day on Earth. I promise we won’t do anything extreme. I just want to teach you a little bit, maybe a trick. Nothing fancy, just something for you to remember me by, you know?” Louis says, his tone much too chipper for such a sad final statement. Harry heard his voice crack with the word ‘remember’, and Harry’s heart cracked with it. 

“Okay. Yeah,” Harry responds, trying to keep his own voice from breaking. It doesn’t work. He feels like he forced the words around a giant lump that will not go away. He doesn't want to think about the fact that Louis may be dead in a few short hours. His heart and brain literally can’t handle that information. He tries to breathe evenly, keeping his eyes open to resist the tears that are suddenly there. He tries to push the sad thoughts from his mind as he slips the sock on his left foot followed by the shoe. 

Once he’s done, he stands up. The shoes fit perfectly, and he finds them very comfortable. He follows Louis to the secret door that’s not very secret. It’s in the kitchen, and Harry thinks he always just assumed it was a storage closet. They walk down the stairs, and Harry looks around, shocked to find Louis has strung fairy lights round the gloomy dark room, giving it a gentle glow. Louis was correct in saying that it isn’t much. It’s just a big open room about the size of the bottom floor of the house. The ceiling is tall, the floor and walls concrete. There are two skateboards on the floor in the middle of the room, Harry quickly recognizing the one Louis came back with the other day. 

“Okay. So the first thing we have to do is figure out if you naturally ride with your left or right foot forward. See, I ride with my left foot forward,” Louis starts, quickly demonstrating on one of the boards. He makes it look easy, stepping on and pushing himself a few feet. Harry already feels unsure about this. Louis stops, stepping on the edge of the board and grabbing the other end without even looking down. Harry finds it kind of hot, and he has no idea why. 

“Well, I’m right handed so…” Harry starts, but Louis is already shaking his head. 

“I’m right handed too, so it doesn’t really have anything to do with that,” Louis responds. 

“Then how do I know?” 

“The easiest way to know is to pretend you're sliding across a kitchen floor in socks. Like you take a run, and slide because you’re dancing or you think it’s fun. Which foot do you slide with first?” Louis asks, his body animated with the example. Harry thinks about it for a few seconds, recalling memories from just last week of how he sang and danced with a wooden spoon in his kitchen when no one was watching. 

“Right. I think it is my right right,” Harry responds, and he smiles. He has no idea why, but something about Louis’ excitement is infectious. Louis smiles wider, nodding his head as if he is proud of Harry for figuring out what foot to lead with. It’s a tiny detail, barely the beginning of the lesson, but if Louis is proud of him then Harry will gladly take it. 

“Good. Okay. So now we are just gonna get you used to standing on the board,” Louis says, moving forward and grabbing Harry’s hands. Harry’s heart flutters with the touch. Louis' hands are so much smaller than his, cool to the touch. They fit nicely. Louis then steps on the board, using Harry to help balance himself. “Like this. It’s pretty simple. Don’t worry. I will do what you’re doing right now. I will help you stay balanced, and I won’t let you fall.” 

“Okay,” Harry responds, attempting to put some certainty to his tone, but he is not really certain at all. He is almost sure he is going to fall. Louis makes it seem so easy, stepping off the board as if it doesn't have wheels. Louis places a foot on the board until it’s steady, it’s wheels no longer moving from inertia. He keeps Harry’s hand in his, looking from Harry to the board and back again, waiting. 

“I promise. I won’t let you fall. Trust me?” Louis asks, his eyes wide, and Harry does. He does trust him. Holy shit. Harry trusts him. Not only with this, but he trusts this man with his life. He kind of already knew that. He knew that when he made the decision not to go with Niall last night. He knew he trusted Louis when he decided to stay with him and go to his parent’s house with a bomb strapped to his body, however until now, he has managed to not actually think about the words, and what they mean. He still doesn't know what they mean, but he trusts Louis so much it makes his arms shake and his stomach flutter. 

Harry doesn't respond. He can’t. He doesn't think he can even form words right now. He just swallows and nods, taking a deep breath. He places his right foot on the board, trying to get a feel for it. He puts a bit of weight on it, and it almost feels like he is stepping on water. It’s fluid yet firm beneath his feet. It’s a strange sensation. Louis smiles in reassurance, nodding again. Harry takes another breath, using Louis for support as he stands up on the board completely. It starts moving forward immediately, and he releases a sound in shock. 

“It’s okay. I got you,” Louis tells him, his voice soft. Harry closes his eyes in fear, as if the ground won’t hurt as badly if he doesn’t see it coming. The skateboard doesn’t slip from beneath his feet though, nor is he met with the hard concrete. Instead, he feels a strong warm arm wrap around his waist, keeping him steady while a hand grips his own. Harry cracks his eyes open to find Louis gazing up at him, and Harry never thought he would see the sky below him like he does now. Louis’ eyes are the sky, and Louis himself is the sun, and Harry is falling into them. Falling into the sky and being burned alive by the sun. He is fine with that. 

“See. It’s not so bad. You just have to get a feeling of the board under your feet. You do yoga, right? Pretend you're balancing on your mat. It’s probably not that much different. You just use your core,” Louis instructs with a smile, and Harry shakes himself out of his thoughts. Yeah. He can do that. He pretends he is on a mat, and soon he is balancing with barely any help from Louis. The smaller man is mostly keeping him steady, so the board doesn’t move. 

Eventually Harry is comfortable enough for Louis to guide him around the room holding his hands. Louis then begins teaching him to skate on his own, how to push, and just getting him comfortable on it. Before he knows it, they are both skating around the large room, talking about random things. Harry tells him more about his childhood, his sister Gemma. Louis shares stories about Niall, Luke and Ashton, making Harry laugh so hard, he almost falls off the board. It’s the most fun Harry believes he has ever had, and he almost doesn't want it to end. 

“Okay, let’s eat some lunch, then it’s time for the next activity,” Louis says, with a huge smile as he watches Harry gain some speed on his board. Harry stops, stepping off it and smiles in response. Louis looks so proud, his chest puffed out and his blue eyes sparkling in the fairy lights. He looks so beautiful, it makes Harry’s heart flutter, like it doesn’t know how to process this exact image. Harry just nods, sad to stop doing this new activity he has come to enjoy, but curious to see what else Louis has planned. 

__________

“Okay. So what’s the rest of the surprise? I don’t think I can wait much longer,” Harry says, his smile wide and his eyes gleaming in the light of the kitchen. Louis was waiting for it. He could tell Harry’s been itching to ask him throughout the entirety of their light lunch. The conversation had been deep as they learned more about each other. Louis tried his best to be as open with Harry as possible, wanting to lay himself out there for Harry to see. Louis figures if he is going to die in a matter of hours, someone should know him for who he is, not who he pretends to be. 

They shared their fears. Louis told Harry that he is scared of deep water, and that he isn’t very good at swimming. Harry told Louis that he is scared of heights, but he always wondered what it would be like to fly. Louis told Harry more about himself, even going as far as opening up more about his biological family and his life on the streets. 

Harry, in return, told Louis about how lonely he’s been. Why he doesn't have friends and about his strained relationship with his own family. Louis finds himself smiling at Harry more often than not, wishing the ending of their story didn’t have to taste so bitter. Wishing they could have met in another way, in a different life, in an alternative universe where their relationship would make sense, and Louis would be more deserving of someone like Harry. 

“C’mon, Lou. You’re killing me,” Harry whines, and Louis snaps out of his fantasy about meeting Harry as a rich business man who could give him everything he deserves with clean money. Louis shakes his head, blinking his eyes a few times to bring Harry back into focus. He is pouting, his green eyes big and doe like. 

“I could never kill you,” Louis responds quietly, and he isn’t sure why he says it. He just feels the need to put it out there, in case Harry doesn’t know. Louis is capable of a lot of violence. He has tortured people for information. He has killed people for less, but he would never hurt Harry. Louis has never directly hurt an innocent person. Harry is the definition of innocence, and Louis could never ever hurt him. He has never truly considered it, but now, Louis would much rather hurt himself before he’d let anything happen to Harry. 

“I know you couldn’t. I know that now,” Harry assures him, reaching for Louis’ hand across the table, his eyes so honest it hurts Louis’ chest. Harry’s hand is large and warm, wrapping around Louis’ like a glove in the winter. Harry makes Louis feel safe, and it’s kind of ironic given that Louis will be marching to his death with Harry in just a few short hours. Louis glances at the clock, anxiety gnawing at his stomach for each second that passes by. It is like the countdown on a bomb, and Louis can feel his body already tense, ready for the inevitable explosion. Harry. Harry’s the bomb and the explosion, but Louis refuses to let that happen. He just doesn't know how to stop it. 

“So… umm… ready for your surprise?” Louis asks, clearing his throat to break the tension that has built up in the room. He glances over to the invisible elephant that seems to be taking up all the air and space. It’s big and pink, and Louis refuses to acknowledge it. If he doesn't acknowledge it then it won’t happen. Right? Louis knows that is completely illogical. At 7 o’clock, Louis will escort Harry to Simon. They will strap a live bomb to Harry and walk into Harry’s family home. There is no stopping it. It feels like a fixed point in time, one that they are hurtling towards at top speed. 

“Yeah. I’ve been ready. What is it?” Harry’s voice is excited, eyes wide and dimples popping. Louis just wants to keep him. He wants to be selfish and keep him forever, but he can’t. 

“Follow me,” Louis instructs, getting up from the table. He leads them up the stairs, into the guest bedroom Harry had been staying in. Harry looks confused, watching Louis through curious eyes. For some reason, Louis is very nervous. He tries to tamp it down, telling himself that he knows Harry will love this. He takes another deep breath before opening the door, revealing what he had set up earlier. He walks in the room, and turns around, not wanting to miss a moment of Harry’s reaction. 

“Painting supplies?” Harry asks, full lips shaped into an ‘o’ reflecting his surprise. His eyes are even wider, sparkling in the sunlit room like drops of dew on a blade of grass in the early morning light. He thinks it’s a good reaction, but he can’t be sure. 

“Yeah. Well, yesterday you said that if you could spend your last day on earth doing anything, you said you’d like to paint. I’m not saying that this is your last day or anything, but let’s be honest, it could be. So yeah, I thought we could spend the day doing something we both enjoy. The skating this morning, then I thought maybe you could teach me to paint,” Louis rambles, his anxiety getting the best of him, but his rambling is stopped when Harry’s lips are on his, capturing them in a sweet kiss. Louis melts into it, savoring it while he can. 

“Thank you, Lou. Thank you so much,” Harry says, his smile so wide that it takes up Louis’ entire heart, making it feel too full. He tries to commit that smile to memory, never wanting to lose it. If he does somehow survive tonight, Harry will still be gone forever. His smile will no longer fill up this room, or Louis’ heart. So Louis pretends to capture it, hanging it on the wall of his mind, never intending to take it down. If he had known that he would have only gotten a week with Harry, then perhaps he would have taken more photos, captured more of Harry’s beauty to keep in his own mind.

“You’re welcome,” Louis gets out, clearing his throat to avoid choking on the lump that has taken up residence there. “Anyways, I know this probably isn’t what you’re used to. I went to an art supply store at the ass crack of dawn. The lady was very nice. She said acrylic paint should work just fine, so I bought a bunch.” Louis gestures at the various colors of acrylic paints he has set up on a small table. Beside it, stand two easels with blank canvases, both also purchased this morning. 

“It’s perfect! Have you ever painted before?” Harry asks, and Louis can hear the excitement in his voice as he slowly runs his fingers over everything Louis has bought. That’s something Louis has noticed about Harry; he is a texture person. He always feels things, sometimes holding an item up to his face to feel it on his cheek. It’s almost as if he needs to do it in order to understand it better, even having done it to Louis on more than one occasion. It’s probably why he likes expensive clothes so much, and Louis finds it completely endearing. 

“Nope. Well I mean, I probably finger painted when I was young, but I’ve never actually painted,” Louis responds, remembering how overwhelmed he felt when he told the lady at the store that he needed supplies for a paint project and she launched into a list of different types of paint and what each one is used for. Louis barely took any of the information in, his head beginning to spin before she even got to her lecture about oil paints. He just smiled politely and explained he was looking for something that will dry relatively quickly, and that he was new to this. 

“And you want me to teach you?” Harry asks, sitting down in front of the canvas and picking up one of the brushes to swipe across his palm, moving on to do the same with another. Louis can’t stop himself from smiling at the act. 

“Yeah. I’m gonna be shit at it, just so you know. I’m not a very creative person, and I have zero ideas on what to paint. Like I doubt it will hardly be anything fit for a gallery, but I thought it could be fun,” Louis says, shrugging his shoulders and trying very hard not to feel insecure right now. He takes a deep breath, reminding himself that Harry went out of his comfort zone for him this morning, so Louis will do the same. 

“You’re not gonna be shit. You’re new to this, so of course you’re painting won’t be a Georgia O’Keefe,” Harry responds, watching Louis as he moves to take the seat beside him. Harry seems to have other plans because he reaches his long arms out and wraps them around Louis’ waist, pulling him into his lap. Louis’ stomach somersaults at the action, suddenly feeling fourteen again and ‘accidently’ landing in his friends lap after he pushed him. 

“Didn’t she paint vaginas? Eww. I don’t wanna paint those,” Louis jokes, scrunching his nose up in mock disgust. Harry bursts out laughing. It’s so loud, it fills up the room, briefly pushing the elephant away completely. Louis closes his eyes for a moment, deciding that he now owns this laugh and will keep it forever. It will be in his memory though, well until he dies. Maybe heaven isn’t a place. Maybe it’s just reliving your favorite memories for eternity. If so, then this week will be the rest of his life, and Louis cannot think of a single better way to spend it. Harry in his memories forever. 

“Well, what would you like to paint?” Harry asks, large ringed hands finding Louis’ hips and squeezing them. Louis wiggles his ass, trying to get more comfortable, but also wanting to tease Harry a bit. He thinks it works because Harry’s breath puffs out on his neck followed by another squeeze from his hands. Louis smiles, deciding this whole sitting on Harry’s lap thing isn’t bad at all. 

“I don’t know. Like I said, my creativity meter is about as empty as a Kardashian’s brain,” Louis says, and Harry laughs again. He feels his chest move against his back with it, as if he is trying to hold it in. He probably is because Louis knows it is a mean joke, and Harry would usually chastise him for those. He doesn't, though. He just snickers into Louis’ shirt like the teacher is watching, and he can’t be too loud. 

“Maybe something simple? Like trees? A bee? A flower?” Harry suggests. Louis wracks his brain for something, but really can’t think of anything. He is already feeling frustrated with himself. He knew this was a bad idea. He should just watch Harry paint. Harry is probably far better at it than he will ever be, and it would be relaxing to just watch him work. That’s probably a better idea. No. Louis needs to do this for Harry. He can get out of his comfort zone. He has been forcing Harry out of his all damn week, so it’s his turn. 

“What’s your favorite flower?” Louis asks suddenly, turning so he can look at Harry. The other man looks surprised by the question, thinking about it before seeming to come to a decision. 

“A sunflower,” Harry answers. 

“A sunflower?” Louis can’t help but be surprised. He figured it would be something romantic, like a rose. Louis always thought about getting a rose tattoo, ever since he got his dagger, but he never got around to it. He thought the dagger was way more fitting for him than a rose. Roses are soft and beautiful. Louis isn’t soft or beautiful. He has sharp edges that can sometimes cause pain. No. He shouldn’t get a rose. People like Harry are the roses of the world, and Louis is a dagger. 

“Yeah. A sunflower. I like how bright they are, and how they always point towards the sun. They are also larger than life, always seeming to take over the sky,” Harry explains further, looking up at Louis as if he is describing something else entirely. He is smiling softly, his hand gently resting on Louis’ lower back now. Louis can’t stop himself from smiling, too. Harry would look beautiful in a field of sunflowers, and Louis is saddened by the idea of never getting to see that. Spring is right around the corner, the days not so cold, but Louis will not be spending it with Harry. No. They got to spend a week in winter together when everything is gray and dreary and dead.

“Then I want to paint a sunflower,” Louis says, his voice sure. Harry smiles at him, beaming up at him so bright, Louis thinks he may actually turn into a sunflower. After that’s decided, Louis turns back around, and they get to work. Harry teaches him about paint, mixing colors and different techniques as a picture slowly starts forming. Louis does most of it himself, but Harry’s hand is always there to guide his. It is relaxing to paint like this. 

“Thank you,” Harry says suddenly, the soft words ghosting over Louis’ ear. Louis shivers, the statement floating into his veins to take up residence there. 

“For what?” Louis asks, painting another petal on his flower. He thinks they are done, Louis having added the last petal and a streak of sunlight to the blue sky. _It has to be this shade of blue_ Harry had said, looking in Louis’ eyes. Louis had smiled, rolling his eyes at Harry’s insistence. It looks a lot better than Louis was expecting, but Harry really is a wonderful teacher. He has an eye for color that Louis could never compete with, so if it weren’t for Harry’s guidance, Louis is sure it would look like dog shit. 

“For everything. For these experiences today. For teaching me to skateboard and for painting with me. For going through all this trouble so we could have one final, amazing day together before we march to our dooms. Thank you for teaching me so much about the world. I meant what I said earlier. In a way, I’m glad you kidnapped me.” Louis’ heart skips a beat, or maybe stops beating entirely. He can’t be sure, but Harry is looking at him in awe, and Louis doesn’t know how to handle this. He wants to cry. He wants to destroy the world because Harry is going to be taken from him in a handful of hours. Harry will survive this. Louis will give his life to make sure that happens. Harry will survive, and he will go back to his world and probably forget about Louis eventually. If Louis doesn't die, he will never forget Harry. Ever. Harry is imprinted on his skin like a tattoo, in his heart like a beat. 

“It’s your turn,” Louis says, voice barely above a whisper. He looks at Harry’s lips, desperately wanting to kiss them. He thinks Harry wants to kiss him too, but neither of them make a move to do so. Louis almost says it. He almost says the words that are on the tip of his tongue. He opens his mouth, feeling as though he is standing on the edge of a cliff, looking down. He’s gonna fall, or perhaps he already has. It’s only been a week, but it feels like so much longer. It feels like centuries and endless universes. Instead, he whispers, “What do you want to paint?” 

“The world,” Harry responds, his voice just as low as Louis. His eyes are so green, they remind Louis of the land that takes up a great deal of the globe, just add some blue, and Louis would have his world. A small smile is playing on Harry’s lips, and Louis feels like Harry is in on something that Louis isn’t. He supposes he will find out soon enough. 

“Okay, go for it,” Louis says, gesturing towards the blank canvas. He doesn’t break eye contact with Harry though, feeling as though they are playing some sort of game. Harry squeezes his hip, lips getting closer to his. Louis almost leans in. Almost closes the distance between their lips. He can feel Harry’s breath on his face. He can smell Harry’s scent mixed with his own, smoky with a hint of vanilla. Louis wants to bottle it. 

“Take off your clothes, and lay down.” Harry's voice is deep and syrupy smooth, coating Louis’ lips in a mixture of sweet and sultry. Louis licks his lips, wanting to taste the words. Harry closes the distance between their mouths, kissing Louis slowly, his tongue licking the seam of Louis’ mouth to gain entrance. Louis briefly wonders if Harry can taste his own words on Louis’ lips. After a short amount of time, far too short in Louis’ opinion, Harry breaks their kissing, looking over at the bed as if to say, ‘what are you waiting for’. 

Louis does as Harry suggests, stripping down to his underwear then laying on the bed. The air is cold on his skin, and he shivers, anticipation making the rising chill-bumps worse. He just spent the last hour in Harry’s lap, feeling Harry’s dick pressed against his crack the entire time. Louis may have wiggled more than he should have just to feel it harden beneath him. If he is going to die in a couple of hours, he should at least die well fucked. 

“This paint is water soluble, but it may stain your skin. Is that okay?” Harry asks, walking slowly towards Louis with paint in his hand. Louis takes a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. He doesn't know exactly why he is so anxious. It could be the way Harry’s voice sounds slow and silky smooth, with an underlying promise. It could be about what the very near future holds for Louis. 

“That’s fine. I may not matter in a few hours anyways.” Louis meant it as a joke, something to lighten the mood, but it came out stilted and sad, his voice cracking with it. He closes his eyes for a moment, not wanting to see Harry’s face. Harry asked him this morning to not pretend everything was okay, and Louis had been trying to adhere to his request. He has been ignoring things, but he hasn’t exactly been pretending. This is the first time he has said anything about the impending events since this morning. 

Harry is so quiet, Louis is forced to open his eyes to see if he is even still in the room. He is. Harry is standing beside the bed looking at Louis with an unreadable expression. He looks like he wants to say something but doesn't know what to say. He can’t argue with Louis. They both know it. They both have to come to terms with the fact that in the best case scenario, they will be separated, and in the worst, they will die together. The sunlight is coming through the window behind Harry, giving him an otherworldly glow, his curls looking more like a halo. 

Louis hasn’t considered heaven since he was a young boy, going to church with his mom and dad. He had always pictured golden roads and beautiful angels with long blond hair and blue eyes. He was wrong, though. Heaven is this room, hours before his demise. Angels have dark curly hair and green eyes. Perhaps Louis has already died and has done something right in his deceitful life to deserve this. Or maybe hell is this being taken from him. Maybe hell does exist after all, and Louis will be met with it in just a few short hours when this all goes away. 

“When did you start collecting your art?” Harry asks, and Louis is confused by the question. Harry is looking at Louis’ arms, the tattoos scattered there, and Louis understands. Harry is referring to Louis’ tattoos as art, and Louis supposes they are. He can’t deny that, even though it pains him to admit it. Louis had never thought himself much for art, but he does have it tattooed on his body. Maybe Harry is right. Art is everywhere. 

“Umm… I got my first one when I was 16, and just kind of never stopped. Niall doesn’t have any, but he was always with me wherever I got them. When I was younger, I didn’t want them, but as I got older, I thought they were a good way to mark various milestones in my life. I figured if I didn’t have a physical home, I could always take what was important with me wherever I went. Even though I could lose everything, I could never lose my tattoos,” Louis explains, the words coming out quick. Harry smiles at the story, moving to the bed beside Louis. 

“That’s beautiful, Lou,” Harry responds, squeezing some paint onto a paper plate. Louis waits patiently as Harry completes the task. Well, it’s as patiently as he can. He just feels like he is going to jump out of his skin at any moment, the anticipation of what's to come making his world feel unsteady. “That’s kind of the reason I got my Brazil tattoo. Maybe I will get more if we survive this.”

“You would look pretty with tattoos. You’re pretty anyway, so don’t get me wrong. You love art so much, so I don’t see why you wouldn’t get it tattooed on your body. There are some really amazing tattoo artists out there,” Louis says, mostly for lack of something better to say. There just feels like so much is unspoken between them, but neither of them seem to be willing to broach the subject. Instead, they dance around it like flames in the night. 

“Maybe you can take me to your favorite artist after all of this is over.” His smile is sad, as if he knows it’s a lie. A stabbing sensation hits Louis directly in the heart because he suddenly wants to take Harry to get a tattoo. He wants to do all of this with Harry, but none of it will actually happen. Louis almost calls bullshit on Harry’s lie, but he doesn’t. He lets the fantasy continue because that is so much easier than confronting the truth. 

“Oh I know just the place. He’s a great artist. The guy that did this bird,” Louis says, pointing to his arm. Harry takes a brush, dipping it into some green paint. He stares at the bird for a few moments, apparently deciding that this is the first tattoo he wants to paint on. A pink tongue pokes out from the corner of his mouth as he slowly lowers the brush down to Louis’ skin. The paint is cold, and Louis barely resists the urge to pull away from the unfamiliar sensation. It also tickles, a giggle escaping Louis’ lips a moment later. 

“Maybe after we could go to a gallery. I could explain to you why I like certain paintings. Show you my favorite pieces,” Harry continues as he paints more colors onto Louis’ skin, making the bird come to life. Louis hasn’t been much for adding colors to his tattoos, and perhaps this is the reason. Only Harry could do it. 

“I’d like that. We could go get coffee or something, maybe go shopping. You could buy ridiculously expensive clothing, and I could watch you model them for me,” Louis adds, images of a giddy Harry twirling in a frilly shirt for him flashing before his eyes. It feels so domestic, and Louis wants to cry. He doesn’t like to fantasize over things he will never have, preferring to live in the moment. He has spent far too many nights envisioning his old home, being wrapped up in his mom’s arms again, only to wake up on a cold street and an empty stomach. Fantasies are just false hope. 

“Then we could come back here, and invite your friends over for more greasy food and video games,” Harry muses, starting to fill in the small paper airplane with purple paint. Harry has been making quick work of filling in his small tattoos with various colors, and Louis finds it beautiful. Louis is somewhat shocked by the conclusion of their imaginary day, though, not expecting Harry to end it like that.

“Did you have fun last night?” Louis asks because he can’t help himself. He thinks Harry was having fun, but he could have also just been polite. Louis knows that his friends can be a bit too much, especially with all of the harmless jabs and playful name calling. Louis and Ashton alone are enough to scare anyone off when they try to see who can outdo the other with their sarcastic comments. Once someone understands their game, it can be comical. 

“Yeah. I had a lot of fun actually. It…” Harry’s sentence trails off, his brush pausing on Louis’ skin. Louis looks at him, waiting patiently for Harry to finish his thought. Harry gets off the bed, and Louis thinks he may have done something to upset him. He opens his mouth to ask, when Harry moves, straddling Louis’s hips. Louis almost groans with the feeling of Harry’s weight on top of his body once more. Harry dips his brush into some more paint, lowering it onto Louis’ chest while he continues speaking, “It’s just that… like… it felt like I had friends. I know that’s stupid because they are your friends…”

“It’s not stupid. They aren’t just my friends. Liam was there, and he’s your friend. I also think you and Luke could be good friends. He’s really smart, like you. He’s also really creative, and you two have a similar sense of humor. There is a reason why you and Liam fit in so seamlessly last night,” Louis points out, trying to make Harry understand that he is capable of having friends. That people can like him, and he doesn’t have to be alone all the time. Harry smiles sadly down at him, as if he doesn't believe him, and Louis wishes he had more time to make him understand. 

“You are all really smart, but Luke’s a genius right? Why isn’t he in college or something?” Harry asks, gliding the paint brush over Louis’ chest. Louis has gotten used to the sensation now. He has no idea what Harry is painting, but it is very relaxing, almost lulling him to sleep. His body feels drunk on the sensation, his eyes as heavy as the air around them. 

“Yeah, he is. I’m not sure. Like I said, we don’t really talk to each other about our stories. I know he went to college once, but he dropped out. College isn’t for everyone, though,” Louis says, shrugging his shoulders subtly, so he doesn't mess up whatever Harry is creating on his chest. The brush grazes over his nipple, sending shivers down his spine, his cock twitching. He hopes Harry didn’t feel it. If he did, he’s not acting like it, continuing his long, even strokes with the paint brush. 

“Education is important,” Harry responds, his tongue poking out again as he adds some sort of detail to whatever he is painting on Louis’ collarbones. Louis is dying to know what it is, but he doesn't even try to look. Just watches Harry as he works, and it is breathtaking. 

“I agree. Education is important, but the educational system in America is so fucked up,” Louis says, the argument coming easy to him. 

“How so?” Harry asks, and it’s a genuine question. Louis takes a deep breath, reminding himself that Harry has been living under a rock in a lot of ways. He said himself that he turns off the news because it makes him uncomfortable. He has no clue about the real problems that Americans face because he has never had those problems in particular. 

“The average millennial graduates with over 30 thousand dollars in student loan debt, but there are some with hundreds of thousands of dollars. The amount of student debt in America has reached over one trillion dollars. Basically, they are starting off their life with an enormous amount of debt, and they will probably never get out from under it because of interest and fees,” Louis says, recalling the research he did on the subject. He wanted to talk to Dom about finishing school, but also wasn’t sure if he should push Dom to go to college. Dom would probably get awarded grants, but that’s usually not enough to cover the full cost. He would have to take out loans. 

“But they know that going in. They know when they take out loans they will have to pay them back. They go to college to get good jobs in order to make paying them back easier,” Harry responds, eyes on whatever he is painting on Louis’ chest. Louis was expecting that argument, though. He even argued about it with himself. 

“Just because they go to college doesn’t mean they get a good job. Most people can’t find a good job when they graduate because they don’t have any experience. Entry level positions want experience and a degree, and most working class students don’t have both. They couldn’t afford to go without a paycheck to get unpaid internships while they were earning their degree,” Louis says, and he can feel his skin heating with the direction of their conversation. It just makes him so angry how rich people pretend that poor people get the same advantages as them. They don’t. 

“What? Really? Like I said, my parents paid for my schooling. I have no idea how much they paid. I never saw the check that they sent in. I just enrolled, and went to class. I know I’m pretty ignorant on this subject, so I’m not trying to argue. I’m trying to learn,” Harry clarifies, his eyes honest. It soothes Louis in a way, and makes him realize how far they’ve come in just a week. At the beginning of the week, this would have been a real argument with screaming. Now, it feels more like a discussion. 

“Well, you know it had to at least be 40 thousand dollars, probably more since you mostly likely went to an Ivy League school, but for the sake of argument, we will say you didn’t. You went to a state school like most people. Your degree is in art history, right? Now imagine they didn’t pay for your schooling, and you graduated with this degree in art history, and now you have 40k in student loan debt. What kind of job can you get with that degree? Would you get it right away? How much would your salary be? Would it be enough to pay off your debt in ten years?” Louis asks the questions in succession, wanting to show Harry what would be going through the average student’s mind. 

“I- I don’t think it would. The degree I earned doesn't have good job placement and is known to not pay well in the jobs you can get with it. I got it because I love art, though, not for a career,” Harry explains, shrugging his shoulders. At some point during the course of their discussion, Harry has stopped painting. He is just looking down at Louis, his messy curls falling down around his face. Louis can feel the paint drying on his skin, and he resists the urge to scratch at it. Instead, his hands find Harry’s thighs, squeezing them to let him know that he isn’t trying to argue either. 

“Which is fine. It’s great that you love art, but most people go to school to try to get well paying jobs. They end up graduating with an astronomical amount of debt, and they can’t find a job to compensate. It affects them for the rest of their lives. They can’t get a car loan or a mortgage, which makes them hesitant to start a family. They are told to go to college to get an education and better their lives, but they still end up living paycheck to paycheck, being slowly crushed by debt,” Louis points out, running his fingers up and down Harry’s thighs. 

“You’re really smart, you know? You’re just proof that people don’t need an education to be intelligent. I know plenty of rich kids with a 100 grand education that couldn’t argue a point half as well as you. Every single day, I become more amazed by you. How your mind works. How you see the world.” Harry’s eyes are wide and honest as he looks down at Louis who is hunching his shoulders to make sure their faces are level. He sits the paint down, pushing it over to the side, forgetting about it. Louis doesn’t know if Harry is finished with whatever he was creating, and Louis isn’t sure he cares because Harry looks so fucking beautiful in the low light of the room, the sun setting as they speak. 

“Sometimes I wish I could see the world like you, though. You see something so innocent and beautiful. You see the world, and want to paint it. I see the world, and I want to destroy it,” Louis whispers, because he feels like the moment is somehow fragile. He means it, though. He wishes he could see the same beauty in the world that Harry seems to see, even without his filter. Louis is cynical and jaded. Sometimes he’d rather watch the world burn than thrive. 

“I’ve learned that sometimes there’s beauty in destruction,” Harry responds, his voice just as low. His eyes are shining in the low light, searching Louis’. Louis isn’t sure what he is trying to find, but he opens himself up to it. To him. The way Harry is gazing at him feels raw, as if he is stripping Louis of his skin, taking his tattoos with it. Taking the stories and memories they hold, and examining them until he can read Louis like a book. Louis wants it to happen. He wants someone to know him before he dies. 

Louis closes his eyes when Harry begins leaning down, their lips meeting a few moments later. The kiss is soft and tender, as if the fragile moment would break if Harry kissed him any harder. It’s really perfect, but Harry is perfect in a lot of ways. That’s probably why he annoyed Louis so much at first. He just seemed so perfect, something that Louis has never been. He has also seen Harry when he wasn’t at his best, but Louis supposes that is what was so wonderful about this week in comparison to Louis’ other relationships. There were no pretenses of fake smiles or false promises. Louis didn’t pretend to be someone Harry would like. They skipped the awkward fake bullshit and went straight to the rawness of life. 

You don’t really get to know people that way though. You don’t get to know them with small talk and personality assessments. No. You get to know them by spreading them open. You find what hurts them. You find what makes them smile. You poke those parts of them until you're both screaming then kissing. Until you can’t see them for anything other than what they are, a human with flaws. Knowing someone isn’t a question, it’s watching their actions in high stress situations. It’s finding their patterns so you can circumvent their spiraling. 

“Fuck me,” Louis says, breaking the kiss. Harry looks surprised, his green eyes widen for a split second in the disappearing light. Louis’ heart is beating rapidly, and he just feels impatient. They are running out of time. He can feel the ticking of the clock with each beat of his heart. He wishes he could break all the clocks in the world, forget about time, and live in this moment. 

“Okay,” Harry responds, nodding and deepening their kiss, probably smearing the paint between them. Louis doesn't care that he didn’t get to see it. He doesn't care about anything but touching Harry and being touched by Harry and everything in between. He makes quick work of ripping off Harry’s shirt, throwing it across the room. Louis shoves his hands down Harry’s borrowed shorts, whining impatiently so Harry will get the hint. He does, standing up from Louis long enough to slip both his short and underwear off. He then turns to leave. 

“Where are you going?” Louis asks, confused as he removes his own underwear. He sees a flash of color in the pale light of the room, the paint on Louis’ arm moving through space. Harry turns around, his cock already hard. He looks glorious naked, and again, Louis wants to commit it to memory. He hopes that he can take these memories wherever he is going, after tonight. 

“To get the lube,” Harry answers, as if it’s obvious. Louis is already shaking his head though. 

“Drawer. Top drawer. You stayed in here for a week and you never looked in the drawers?” Louis asks, shaking his head and moving to retrieve the lube. He finds it quickly, grabbing a pillow from behind his head to place under his hips. 

“No. I didn’t think anything would be in there. Why do you have lube in the spare bedroom?” Harry asks, his brows drawn in confusion. Louis is already popping the cap on the lube though, barely paying attention to the question. He is already incredibly turned on, his dry hole clenching around nothing at the prospect of being full soon. 

“Ashton and Luke stay in here sometimes when they are too drunk to drive home. They left it here one day,” Louis explains easily, holding the lube and shaking it. Harry looks disgusted for a split second before he shrugs and walks back towards him. Louis smiles in response, spreading his legs and coating his own fingers. Harry gets on the bed between Louis’ legs and freezes, realizing what Louis is doing. 

“Holy…” Harry’s words trail off when Louis begins slicking up his hole, moaning at the touch. Louis is no stranger to masturbation, fingering himself when he needs to feel full. He has a whole drawer of sex toys in his room after all, and he knows just how he likes it. He looks at Harry, moaning as he slowly pushes his own finger past the tight ring of muscles. 

“Wanna watch you stroke yourself for me,” Louis says, glancing down at Harry’s now incredibly hard dick, hanging heavy between his legs. Harry’s cheeks heat up at the suggestion, but Louis just nods, wanting to give him a little bit of a push as he presses his finger deeper into himself. Harry bites his lip, hand slowly finding his own dick. Louis nods again, moaning when Harry takes it in his large ringed hand, giving it one swift stroke. He hisses in response, eyes closing in pleasure. It’s so hot, Louis can’t hold in his own moan at the sight. 

“Gonna add another finger?” Harry asks, but it sounds almost like a demand. Louis’ stomach flutters, the spot behind his navel pulling in pleasure. 

“Do you want me to?” Louis asks, a smirk playing on his lips. 

“Yeah.” The answer is breathy, the word deeper than a black hole. 

“Say it. Tell me what to do,” Louis responds, and Harry’s gaze makes a hot trail down Louis’ body until they land on his wet hole. Louis can almost feel it caress him as it descends. Fuck. Harry licks his lips again, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. Louis wants to bite it. 

“Add another finger, baby,” Harry orders, and Louis shivers at the pet name, quickly obliging his request. Harry doesn’t take his eyes from Louis’ hole, as he continues to stroke himself slowly. The whole thing feels intimate to Louis somehow, and they haven’t even fucked. Harry hasn’t been inside him at all. He really wants to change that though, let Harry take over. His fingers are so much bigger than Louis’, and he bets they will feel devine. For now, Louis just does it himself, enjoying the feeling of putting on a show for Harry. 

“Fuck this feels so good, Harry. Bet your fingers will feel so much better. They are so long and thick,” Louis moans, fucking himself harder on his fingers, digging his heels into the bed to use as leverage to grind down. Before he can protest, Harry is slapping his hand away, grabbing the lube and coating his own two fingers in the slippery substance. Louis watches with wide eyes, moaning again at the very thought of what he is finally going to feel. 

“Wanna finish opening you up,” Harry murmurs, slowly pressing two fingers into Louis. Fuck. That feels so different than Louis’ own smaller fingers. His eyes roll back into his head at the overwhelming feeling of fullness that takes over his entire body. It doesn't hurt. Louis doesn't mind a bit of pain when he’s bottoming though. He prefers it on the rougher side, if he’s honest. So he presses into Harry’s fingers, getting him to go deeper, moaning at the sensation. 

“Your fingers are so big Harry, more.” Louis’s voice is so deep, he barely recognizes it as he looks down. All he sees are the colors on his chest in abstract shapes and patterns. He’s sure there is more to it, but he can’t make anything out from this angle. He wishes he could see Harry’s fingers going in and out of him like he can feel them. He wishes he could see the way Harry’s rings are snagging his opening with every deep thrust because he can sure as fuck feel the cool metal pressed on his overheated skin. “Take a picture of this,” Louis blurts out. 

“What?” Harry asks, his fingers pausing with the question, and Louis can’t stop a whine from escaping his lips. He bucks, trying to get Harry to start moving inside him again, but Harry doesn’t, looking at Louis with wide, unbelieving eyes. 

“Wanna see your painting. Wanna see you stretching me open,” Louis pants out, quickly finding his phone and unlocking it with sticky fingers. He clicks on the camera icon, pushing it towards Harry’s free hand. Harry looks like he is going to object, but Louis wiggles the phone, nodding his head with a pleading expression. He just desperately wants to see this. Harry takes it slowly, moving the screen away from Louis’ line of vision. He doesn't start taking pictures right away, tapping the screen over and over again. Louis can’t see what he is doing, but briefly wonders if he is trying to call for help. He pushes that thought away though because they both know Harry is free now. 

“You’re so tight, baby. Shit,” Harry curses, adding a third finger slowly. Louis smiles at the curse word before his eyes roll back into his head so far, he sees the electrodes firing in his brain. It looks like lighting and feels like tiny zaps that are heading straight to his aching, untouched dick, making him squirm. He hears the snap of the camera on his phone a moment later, and for some reason it turns him on. He opens his eyes to find Harry taking multiple pictures, at various angles with the flash on. 

“Right there. Right there. Right there,” Louis chants when Harry hooks his fingers enough to bump his prostate, sending more jolts of pleasure through him, the snap of more pictures punctuating the short sentences. When Harry stops again, Louis opens his eyes, finding that Harry is holding out his phone. Louis grabs it, and Harry begins the slow grind of his fingers again. Louis has to stares at his phone for a moment before his brain is able to process the picture. It is clear that Harry had been playing with the camera settings on his phone, probably wanting to get the best possible picture given the lighting. It looks professional, Louis hardly recognizes himself. 

The first thing he notices are the bright colors on his chest and arms. The normally dark, shadowy tattoos are now vibrant and full of life. Harry has painted around the script on his chest, turning it into a beautiful mixture of brightly colored flowers and sun rays. Almost as if the rays of the sun are coming from within Louis’ chest. It doesn’t take away from the phrase, though. No. It enhances it, and Louis’ chest may be the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. He blinks back his tears, the paint making him feel so precious, bright and beautiful. Does Harry think that of him? 

“Please. Harry. Fuck me. Please. Need it,” Louis begs, looking between the picture and Harry, eyes now on the part where Harry is stretching his hole with ringed fingers. He can see the rings setting snugly against it, the wetness of the lube shining in the light. He is hoping that Harry can hear the plea in his voice. He doesn’t care how it sounds. He just needs Harry inside him. What Harry had painted on his body does things to Louis' chest, makes his heart actually ache. The words are on the tip of his tongue, but he can’t say them. Instead, he just wants to show Harry. He wants to show him how he feels. 

“Is there a condom in here?” Harry asks, looking around, and Louis is already shaking his head. 

“I’m clean. I know you think I’m a lowlife, but I swear to you, Harry, I’m clean. I had a test done three months ago, and I haven’t been with anyone since way before that. They were all negative. Please. Fuck me bare,” Louis begs, loathing the very idea of there being any sort of barrier between them right now. He glances back at the picture, the design painted on his bare chest, the way Harry’s three fingers are stretching him open. He needs this. 

“How do you know I am?” Harry asks, looking down at Louis, his eyes on the verge of alarmed. Louis doesn't have to even think about his answer. 

“Doesn’t matter. Gonna die in a few hours anyway. Wanna die with your come in me,” Louis argues, and Harry looks shocked by his words. It’s true, though. Louis isn’t really thinking about STIs when he knows he is going to die very soon. It’s a feeling deep in his gut. He doesn't really care. Something else will kill him first, and he just wants to feel this. He needs to feel this. This moment of pleasure before his world comes crashing down, and everything comes to a grinding halt. Death. Death will still his breathe and stop his heart. He wants to give both to Harry before they’re gone forever. “Please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go of this story! Two more books in the series! Thank you for trusting me with this journey.


	13. C'est La Mort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If they could fly...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finally here!! The last chapter of the first book in this series! The first book is finally complete, and it's bittersweet. I have so much more of this story you tell you all, and so much more planned. Please be patient. Thank you for reading. 
> 
> A quick thank my two betas, Dana and Linda, for reading this fic and putting up with my constant questioning of my sanity. This one was hard, even for them, so a huge thank you is in order. They are amazing friends, and I love them dearly. 
> 
> If you're interested in supporting me as a writer, please look at my [author website](https://lmarcherofficial.com/%20rel=). 
> 
> There is also a [Spotify Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1l6QjjLoOIRPOCgZt8d4YV?si=8kwH6LpvQzik8AfjPVMPIw) that will be updated weekly with the songs represented as chapter titles as well as any other songs I feel fit with the emotions/theme of the chapter.
> 
> Thank you for your support, and I hope to see you for the next one xx

_ Swan dive down eleven stories high  
Hold your breath until you see the light  
You can sink to the bottom of the sea  
Just don't go without me- The Civil Wars _

Harry’s heart shatters at Louis’ words, the realization of how true they are weighing heavily on every particle of air in the room, making it much harder to breathe it in. Louis’ eyes are wide, so blue Harry feels like he is drowning. Maybe that’s why he can’t breathe. The air around him is actually made of water. He can either drown or become a mermaid. Harry breathes in, the smell of Louis filling his nostrils while he nods. He wants to give this to Louis. He wants to give this to himself.

“Yeah. Okay. Yeah. If you’re sure,” Harry responds, nodding again, but wanting to give Louis one last chance to change his mind. All he can hear is Louis saying ‘I want to die with your come in me’ over and over in his head. It shouldn’t be hot. He shouldn’t be turned on by that idea. He obviously doesn't want Louis to die, not even a tiny bit, but the notion is somehow romantic. Dark and romantic, and Harry decides he doesn’t hate how fucked up it actually is. He will probably die today too, and dying knowing that this is how he spent his last moments on Earth is somehow comforting. 

“I’m sure. Please. Harry. I just wanna feel you. This last time, I wanna feel. Make me forget what’s coming. Please,” Louis begs, his voice a mixture of desperation and anguish. Harry should probably say something about it not being healthy to push aside your issues, but in this case, it doesn’t matter. He wants to forget too, even if the only way to do it is to be bare inside of Louis. He wants to forget what’s coming, and doing this right now, forgetting for a moment, won’t change the outcome. So... fuck it. 

“Okay,” Is all Harry is able to get out, and as soon as the agreement leaves his lips, Louis’ hole tightens in response, reminding him that he is still three fingers deep inside of him. Harry removes his fingers slowly, grabbing the lube from where he placed it on the bed. He squeezes some into his hands, stroking his cock to get it nice and wet. He hisses at the contact, wanting to keep going but also wanting to replace his hand with Louis’ heat. 

“Harry,” Louis whines impatiently, and Harry smiles at the wanton quality of his voice. He’s used to Louis talking filthily and taking the lead. Who knew all it took was a few fingers in Louis’ ass to reduce him to begging. Louis is so beautiful in the low light of the room, the bright paint on his chest standing out in a harsh contrast to his tan skin. Harry wanted to paint something beautiful on him, something that represented how Harry has come to see Louis. He has been redesigning the image in his mind of Louis since that night in the shower, and this was his chance to finally do it justice. 

“Okay, baby,” Harry responds, tugging his cock one final time before he leans over Louis, lining himself up. He takes a deep breath, beginning to push in. Louis moans loudly, hands gripping Harry’s neck to bring him down in a punishing kiss, some of the still wet paint smearing between them. Harry can barely concentrate on kissing Louis back because his cock feels like it is seconds away from being seared off by the sun. He has found the source of heat that keeps him alive, but he doesn’t know if he will actually survive this. He needs more, but at the same time he doesn’t know how much more he can take. He keeps pushing in though, slowly but surely, until he is buried deep in the sun, sacrificing himself to whatever god is ruled by it. 

“Fuck. Harry. So big. Fuck,” Louis murmurs against his kiss bruised lips, his breath feeling like a warm summer breeze. Harry tries to keep his body still, allowing Louis to adjust to the feeling, but Louis seems to have other plans. He pushes his heels into the back of Harry’s thighs, using them as leverage to buck up and force Harry deeper. They both let out a moan, Harry’s low and deep while Louis’ is high pitched, on the verge of a whine. 

“Jesus fuck,” Harry says, not caring that he is cursing. He is already losing himself in Louis’ heat. He is tired of having a filter. He just wants to be himself, to know who he is, and he knows who he is when he is with Louis. Louis brings out the best and worst in him. Louis makes Harry question who he thought he was, and he will become. People aren’t one moment in time. They are made up of thousands of moments and experiences, each one shaping who they are and who they were. Who Harry was last week is very different to who he is this week. If Harry survives today, then next week he will change again. Harry is fluid. 

“Feels so good. Need it. Please. Need to feel alive.” Louis’ voice is barely above a whisper, murmuring the words like a confession. The atmosphere in the room changes with it, the simple sentences holding so much weight, it coats the air around them in lead. Harry’s heart aches, and he feels like he can’t breathe. Louis has chosen Harry to be with him in what could very well be his last moments of life. Harry makes a decision then to see that they both survive. He will do everything in his power to make sure Louis will survive the next few hours. He will do whatever it takes. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Harry says because he lacks anything else in his mind except wanting to see this beautiful person alive and thriving. The person that is underneath him, wrapping around his body like sun rays on a warm summer day. Harry slows down the movement of his hips, wanting this moment to last forever. It’s hard. His instinct is to pound into Louis, no barrier between them, but he can’t. He needs to take this slow. He wants to slowly bring Louis’ body to life. 

“Faster,” Louis moans, and Harry shakes his head. Louis looks offended, and Harry shakes his head again, using his arms to lift his chest off the smaller man. Louis' eyes are dark, his lips the most lovely shade of pink Harry has ever seen. His painted chest is heaving, the rays Harry had painted there seeming as if they are reaching for Harry with every breath, but not quite touching him. Harry doesn’t need the sun's rays though, he is touching its surface, the tight heat gripping his cock like a vice. 

“Wanna go slow. Wanna remember this,” Harry responds, bending his arms to kiss Louis again. He swallows Louis’ moans as he continues the slow grind of his hips. He really doesn’t know how much longer he will last. He is acutely aware of the minutes slipping by, each tick of the second hand on the clock bearing down on them with every passt it makes around the face. Maybe time is a living thing. Harry doesn't know how much longer they have, but at least they are together for it. 

“I’ll never forget, Harry. I promise. I will never forget you. I’ll never forget this. If I die, I wanna live in this day, forever,” Louis says, gripping Harry’s arms so tightly, he is sure it will bruise. He doesn't care though. He wants it to bruise because that will give him something to remember Louis by. They will fade, though. Bruises always fade, and Harry already hates them for that. He doesn't want his memories of this past week to fade, too. He refuses to let them. He just doesn't know how to to stop any of this. 

“You won’t die. Please stop saying that. You won’t die. We will survive. You will survive. You’re so strong. You will survive this like you’ve survived everything else,” Harry insists, his heart breaking when he sees a tear stream down Louis’ beautiful face. Louis shakes his head, the tear being flung to some unknown part of the room, hopefully finding a location that time won’t be able to reach. It will dry over time though. Nothing can run from time. It will always find you. Time will win, and it feels as though it is moments away from catching up to Louis and Harry. 

“I’m not scared to die. Please. Harry. Keep going. Fuck. It feels so good. Please,” Louis begs, and Harry can’t deny him. He keeps grinding into Louis, each subtle thrust hurtling Harry closer to the edge. He tries to fight it. He tries to fight time, but it’s a losing battle. Harry is going to come soon, and this moment will be gone forever, stolen from them by the hands of time itself. 

“I’m close,” Harry says, through gritted teeth, the feeling of Louis around him both not enough yet too much. At his words, Louis’ hole tightens almost as if the admission brings him closer to his own edge. “Fuck.” The word is ripped from Harry’s throat as the come is pulled from his cock by Louis’ tight heat. Harry topples over the edge of a cliff, into dark oblivion where he can forget about the seconds that are ticking by. He has never came bare in anyone before, but it almost feels like it alters Harry's life in some small way. He gave this to Louis. He would give Louis everything. 

After Harry finishes, he doesn't give himself a moment to come down. He quickly and carefully pulls out of Louis. “What are you…” Louis asks, blue eyes wide and confused. 

“Wanna taste you. Wanna go with your come in me too,” Harry responds, repositioning himself on the bed between Louis’ legs. He hasn’t ever given a blowjob before. Well, not for longer than a few seconds and certainly not long enough for someone to finish in his mouth. He has only ever tasted come once, and it was his own, coating Louis’ lips and tongue. Harry also had a little taste the day Louis had come on his face, but it wasn’t enough. Harry wants more. He wishes he would have done more that day, but he was still too caught up in who he thought he was supposed to be. Now though. Now, Harry wants more. He wants to swallow Louis. He wants a part of Louis inside him, too. 

“You don’t have to…” Louis’ words choke off because Harry wastes no time taking him deep. He can already taste the salty tang on his tongue from the precome Louis’ cock has produced. Louis moans again, his hips subtly bucking up into Harry’s mouth. Harry glances down at Louis’ stretched hole, seeing his own come leaking out of it. Harry refuses to let that happen, so he slowly slides two fingers inside. 

“Holy fuck Harry. Oh shit,” Louis screams, and Harry’s limp cock twitches at the sound. Harry hums, taking Louis deeper as he crooks his fingers. He finds Louis’ spot with just a few tries, Louis’ legs twitching around him. Harry thrusts his fingers in as he pulls away from Louis’ cock, and Louis is obviously unsure of which sensation to chase. Harry loves it. He loves reducing Louis to this. It makes him feel proud and accomplished. 

“Oh fuck. Harry. Right there. Shit. So close. Gonna come. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” Louis chants, each word punctuated by the slide of Harry’s mouth down his cock. Harry moans in response, looking up at Louis’ through his eyelashes. Louis’ eyes are wide, and a moment later Harry feels Louis’ cock pulse in his mouth, his hole tightens around his fingers, and there’s a very distinct salty taste in the back of his throat. Harry moans again, pressing into Louis’ spot, and Louis screams, another spurt of come shooting down his throat. Harry swallows around it, repeating the process until Louis’ screams turn to whimpers, and his body is reduced to a pile of twitching flesh. 

Harry somehow ends up in Louis’ arms, panting alongside him for a few long moments. He feels sticky, but he doesn't want to wash any of this away. He is too afraid of washing the memory away with it. With each moment that passes, the seconds of the clock become heavier. He didn’t know time could feel so tangible, as if it is breathing and living in this bedroom with them. It feels like a monster breathing down his neck, each exhale representing a second, and it gets closer with each minute that passes, threatening to swallow them alive. 

“We should…” Louis starts, his words cracking in his throat. He clears it, and Harry almost begs him not to say it. He almost begs him to just stay, and maybe they can just break the clock. Unfortunately, breaking a clock doesn't stop time. Nothing will, so they will just need to be swallowed and hope they survive something as unforgiving as time. Harry looks up at Louis, finding his blue eyes shiny with unshed tears. Harry bites his lip, trying not to cry. The paint on Louis’ chest is water soluble, and Harry doesn't want to ruin it even more with something as useless as his tears. 

“Harry. We should… Umm… we should go,” Louis finally says, and the sentence feels like it punches Harry in the gut. He knows they should, but he just doesn't want to. He wants to scream and cry and throw a fit. He wants to stomp his foot and tell time to fuck off, but he can’t. It won’t work. This is inevitable, and there is nothing he can do about it. It’s frustrating, and Harry bites his lips to keep his tears at bay. He wants to burn the world for this. 

“Yeah. I know,” Harry settles on saying, not really having anything to add. He can tell Louis is just as upset as him. He can see the tears in his eyes, and can feel his body shake with ragged breaths, finding it just as difficult to hold his anguish in. They don’t have time for tears, though. They have run out of it. They don’t even have time for showers, but that’s okay because Harry refuses to wash this moment away. Not yet. So he slowly gets off the bed, Louis following suit. They leave the painting and supplies in the room, going to Louis’. 

They don’t speak as they get ready, neither of them seeming to know what to say. Harry reaches into his Gucci bag, deciding to wear something of his own to the final show. He may as well wear his best clothes. He pulls out a pair of blue high waisted bell bottom pants, a blue sparkly shirt, and blue suspenders. Each item matches Louis’ eyes. Harry remembers purchasing them. He had no idea why he liked the shade so much, but it ended up being a color that changed his life. 

“Suspenders? Really?” Louis asks, with a sly smile when Harry turns to face him. Harry only buttons up the shirt half way, leaving his chest exposed. Louis has chosen a pair of black tight fitting jeans and a black hoodie. He is pushing his arms through a green coat as he speaks. Harry was almost sad to see his painting go, but it helps to know that it is still there, beneath the clothes. 

“They're fashionable!” Harry defends. 

“They’re tragic,” Louis responds, with a laugh. Harry pouts, so Louis walks up to him, pushing his fingers under one of the straps. He grasps it, pulling Harry down into a soft kiss. He doesn't say anything, just gives Harry a sad smile then walks out the room. Harry follows him out of the house, the cold night air a direct contrast to the warmth Harry had felt buried in Louis heat. They get into Louis’ car, and Harry is surprised when Louis doesn’t blindfold him. He doesn't say anything though, the moment feeling too fragile for words. 

The drive to head quarters is dark and quiet, both men seemingly lost in their own thoughts. The air in the car is heavy, no music playing from the radio to lighten the mood. The only thing that gives Harry a sense of comfort is the fact that Louis’ hand is graped in his own, squeezing it every few minutes. It seems they have brought the monster that is time with them, and it’s presence is taking up every available inch of the space, making it hard to move. How could something so fleeting be so imposing? 

“Are you ready?” Louis asks, putting the car into park, breaking Harry out of his thoughts. Their surroundings come back into focus, and Harry immediately recognizes it as the original warehouse he was brought to with Liam, the salty smell of the ocean all around them. Harry takes a deep breath. 

“As I’ll ever be,” he says, trying to smile, and put some kind of confidence in his tone. He knows he falls short on both counts. Louis looks like he wants to kiss him, and Harry even leans in, but Louis shakes his head, looking around them as if to say that they are being watched. Harry tries not to feel disappointed. If he knew that the kiss in the bedroom would be the last shared between them then he would have made it last longer. That’s the thing though, it would eventually have had to end. Everything does. It would have been their last regardless. 

“I know it will be hard, but just try to stay calm. Let me do most of the talking. I promise that the bomb won’t go off. You’ll survive this Harry. I swear to you. You will survive,” Louis tells him, his blue eyes wide and honest. Harry bites his lip, silently making the same promise to Louis. He can’t say it out loud. Louis will just argue, and Harry doesn't want him to. Louis is worth saving whether he wants to believe it or not. Louis offers one last small smile before he releases Harry’s hand, opening the car door. Harry takes a deep breath, doing the same. 

He walks alongside Louis, down a long hallway, then another and another. By the time they reach the door Louis is looking for, Harry feels like they have walked through a maze. Louis is silent as he firmly knocks twice. Harry tries to tamp down the anxiety that has seemed to take over his limbs, making them shake in trepidation. The door opens, and Louis grabs Harry’s elbow firmly, walking in. 

“Louis. Ah yes. I was afraid you weren’t gonna come. You’re almost late,” A man behind the desk says. Harry immediately knows that it’s Simon. He doesn't know how he knows, but he does. The man has dark hair and a long pointed nose. His face looks as though he has had quite a bit of plastic surgery, not wanting time to take its toll on his skin. His voice is nasally, grating on Harry’s nerves, and Harry feels sick. He doesn't even want to look at this evil man. 

“I apologize, Sir. Forgive me for asking, I really could be remembering wrong, but I thought it was just going to be us on this mission,” Louis says, and Harry can’t even hear a hint of nervousness in his tone. His voice doesn’t even reflect the surprise the words obviously hold. Harry has to give it to him; he is an amazing actor. He looks every bit the strong and powerful mafia boss he is. Harry looks around, noticing they are surrounded by men. He doesn't recognize any of them, and something in his mind is screaming at him to run. He can't though. He has had the opportunity dozens of times. He made his choice. That choice is standing beside him. 

“I thought we may need some back up,” Simon responds, and Louis looks confused for a split second. Harry can see it in the way his brows very subtly draw together. He recovers quickly, just nodding his head. Simon begins relaying the plan, but Harry can't bring himself to pay attention to it because they have begun strapping a bomb to his body. He tries to stay calm, tries to keep his breathing regular, but panic is gripping his throat. 

He wishes Louis could hold his hand. He wishes he didn't have to do this, but he must. Louis is doing a good job at playing the dutiful employee, glancing in Harry’s direction every so often. Harry can see the concern in his blue eyes. He can tell Louis is itching to come to him, but he stays rooted to the spot, listening to Simon explain how they are going to get in. Everything is happening so quickly, Harry’s head is spinning. One moment Simon is talking, and the next, he is being escorted out of the room by a group of large, angry men with a live bomb strapped to his chest, the detonation device held in Simon’s hand. 

He is pushed roughly into a van, Louis following him in and sitting beside him. Harry tries to calm his breathing by focusing on Louis’ comforting presence beside him, but it’s difficult. He feels like he isn’t even in the moment. He isn’t even living in his body, it’s just doing what it has to do to survive. Louis grips his hand in the darkness, the feeling of warmth enveloping Harry for a split second before it’s gone, replaced by cold dread. 

Everything feels like it is both moving in slow motion and going far too fast for Harry to process. They arrive at his parents’ house, Louis holding a gun to Harry’s head threateningly, showing the guard who he is. Harry doesn't feel scared by the action. He knows Louis would never hurt him. The bomb on the other hand, that scares him to his core. One small movement from Simon, and Harry dies. His only solace is the fact that he would take Simon with him. Harry has never wished death on someone, but in this moment, he does. He wishes Simon would die. 

The next moment, Harry is being pulled from the van by Louis, who is still holding a gun to his head. The guards at the front let them in, keeping their hands held up at Simon’s command. They ask which direction the study is in, and Harry answers. He doesn't know how. He didn’t tell his brain to speak, but he is still on autopilot, his brain and body functioning without command. They walk through the door that is his father's study. He chose that particular room because it has a view of the ocean. 

His dad looks surprised as they walk through the door, his brown eyes wide as he holds a bottle of brandy. Recognition dawns on him when he sees Harry, his brows briefly crease in confusion. He then looks at the men Harry is accompanied by, and for some reason, he doesn't look surprised one bit. He looks tired, the skin on his jaw pulled down with time and stress. Harry hasn’t seen his father in a few years, but he seems to have aged a decade in that time. He doesn’t lift his hands, even though Simon has a gun pointed at him. He doesn’t really look at all affected. 

“Dad,” Harry says, but another name, coated in a familiar, high pitched and raspy voice, harmonizes with his. Harry freezes at the familiar name, looking at the man who uttered it. It is Louis. Louis is staring at his dad, his mouth open in shock. He has to be wrong, though. This is Harry’s dad, Des Styles. Not… not… 

“Selley.” Louis says again, and Harry feels like the name has punched him in the face. 

_________

“Selley,” Louis repeats. He didn’t even mean to say it the first time, so he has no idea why he is repeating it. He is just so fucking shocked, he doesn’t know how else to respond. Selley is standing right in front of him, and Harry just called him ‘dad’. His brain just cannot process this right now. Selley is Harry’s father? What? How? How did Harry not know this? How did Louis not know this? He never thought to look up pictures of Des Styles. He never would have to put the pieces together. Luke and Ashton probably wouldn’t even know what Selley looked like. 

“Wait outside. Guard the door. It doesn’t matter what you hear, do not open the door unless you hear my command,” Simon orders, looking at the other men that accompanied them. Louis stays rooted to the spot, his gun still trained on Harry’s temple. Harry. Fuck. He must be so confused. He chances a glance at him, and what he finds breaks his heart. Harry is looking at him, his green eyes pleading. He probably thinks that Louis knew all along. That Louis had been keeping this information from him, but he didn’t. It all makes sense now. Why Carey worked for Des Styles. Why no one in their organization knew what Selley looked like. Why Simon was particularly interested in Harry. 

“How did you get your hands on my son?” Selley asks, looking at Harry then back to Simon. Harry isn’t paying him any attention though, eyes still on Louis. Louis swallows, attempting to pretend he is fine, that the look on Harry’s face isn’t breaking his heart. All he sees is betrayal. Harry feels betrayed by his own father, and Louis can relate so much to that. He wants to grab Harry and hold him, tell him it’s okay. That his father’s actions in no way reflects the world they live in. He can’t though. He has to play the part. 

“Louis here will blow his brains out on my command, then I have a bomb vest strapped to him for extra security. One wrong move, and he’s dead. I don’t care if I take all of us with him,” Simon ignores his question, holding up the detonation device and wiggling it, as if to taunt Selley. Louis is so shocked by the turn of events, he almost forgot Harry has a live bomb strapped to his chest. He watched them put it on him, noting the way they did so. It didn’t look like it would be too difficult to take off. It is secured with a simple lock, but the only issue is the fact that Simon has the key. Louis watched him place it in the breast pocket of his jacket. 

He wishes he could have done more to help comfort Harry during all of this, but he couldn’t. Not without giving away his feelings, which Simon is probably already suspicious of. No. He had to pretend strapping that bomb to Harry didn’t make him physically ill. He had to pretend he didn’t have tears in his eyes because of how terrified Harry looked in that moment. Louis is great at pretending, but his heart feels as though it is shattered. 

“What do you want?” Selley asks, his eyes dark and angry, mouth drawn into a thin line. Harry favors him a little, but not enough for Louis to have noticed any resemblance before. Harry must look more like his mom, and Louis finds himself wondering why Des is called Selley. He doesn't really have time to contemplate it because he needs to focus on keeping Harry alive. He needs to get the key away from Simon and get Harry out of that vest. It just seems like an impossible task right now. 

“I want your sex trafficking operation,” Simon responds, voice low and even. Louis’ head snaps to Simon at his words, but the other man is ignoring him, black eyes trained on Selley with a Grinch-like smirk on his face. No. Simon couldn’t want this. He wouldn’t want to get into something as disgusting as sex trafficking. Louis doesn't want to believe it, but he heard it straight from Simon’s mouth. He has probably already been involved, but kept that aspect from Louis because he knew he would lose his loyalty. Any amount of respect Louis had left for Simon has disappeared, the demand erasing them like paint thinner tossed on the Mona Lisa. Fuck. 

“You will have to kill me before I give you the business that brings in the most money,” Selley responds, finally pouring some of the brandy he’s still holding into a glass. He puts the bottle down on the table, taking a sip from his drink as if they are discussing a simple business deal, like buying a company or the introduction of new merchandise, not fucking sex trafficking. The whole thing feels so nonchalant to Louis, and it is horrifying. It’s normal to them. It is a business deal. They don’t care about the people’s lives it destroys. All they see are dollar signs. Louis wants to cry, the person he looked up to as a hero just became a villain in his own story. 

“I was already planning to kill you anyways, but I will let your son live if you give me your sex trafficking operation. It's just one small thing in exchange for his life. You will die knowing that you saved his life. Your business will be left mostly intact, ready for him to take over. If you don’t, then I will kill him and torture you until you do as I ask. This is really the least harmful scenario. I’m trying to be nice to an old friend.” Simon’s smile is syrupy sweet, and Louis feels like he is seconds away from vomiting. An old friend? Exactly how far back do they go? 

“Kill him. I don’t care. He is useless to me anyway. He doesn't want the business,” Selley says, gesturing towards Harry as if he is nothing more than a wart that needs to be removed. Harry looks crestfallen, tears welling in his green eyes at his father’s words. Louis watches him take a deep breath, looking down at his feet, the tear on his cheek falling to pool on the hardwood floor. Louis feels like he can’t breathe, a knife stabbing his chest as he watches Harry struggle for some sort of control, but the feelings of betrayal are still marring his features. 

“You’re bluffing,” Simon accuses, but Louis’ isn’t so sure. He hopes he is. He hopes for Harry’s sake his father isn’t prepared to let him die just to keep his disgusting business alive. How could someone be so evil that they choose their money over their child. Louis supposes his own father chose something even more worthless over his own child, his pride. Louis understands how Harry feels. This is the proverbial door slamming in Harry’s face. He itches to comfort him. 

“I’m not. Go ahead and shoot him. It doesn’t matter to me. His mom will be upset, but why do I care? I’ll be dead, according to you. My business will go to her, and she will plan accordingly.” Selley finally looks at Harry with his words, but Louis sees absolutely no love in his eyes. All he sees is disappointment, and that’s when Louis begins to get angry. He can feel the familiar white hot flames licking at his skin. What a horrible fucking human. Both of them are. Any person would be lucky to have someone as pure as Harry as a son. 

“Louis. Shoot him,” Simon commands, not taking his eyes from Selley, almost as if they are in a staring contest. Then the order sinks into Louis’ consciousness. He told him to shoot Harry. Fuck. No. No. No. Louis can’t. He won’t. When he doesn't hear a gunshot following his demand, Simon’s head snaps to Louis, his dark eyes squinted in anger. “I told you to shoot him.” 

“Can’t we come to some other agreement?” Louis asks, his voice weak even to his own ears. He knows there are no other agreements. Simon wants what he wants and Selley will continue to refuse to give it to him. One will eventually win, but the whole world will be taken down with them. 

“Shoot him, Louis. That is an order,” Simon demands, words coming out sharp, cutting Louis to the bone. Louis is frozen to the spot, shaking his head. He can feel Harry shaking beside him, hear his subtle sniffs from trying not to cry. No. Louis can’t do this. He needs Harry to survive. Fuck. Simon begins speaking again, Louis’ brain barely able to process it over the sound of his own blood rushing. 

“I knew you were developing a soft spot for him. I knew you were going soft on me in general. I thought I taught you better than that,” Simon tsks, and Louis tries not to allow the disappointment in his voice to affect him. He tries not to feel bad for displeasing Simon after he had looked up to him for so long and did everything he could to make him proud. He tells himself he doesn't care that Simon is disappointed. He does, though. He still cares somewhere deep inside of him. 

“If you knew, then why did you even bring me along?” Louis asks, the question leaving his lips before he even had a chance to stop it. He can’t take it back, though; it’s out there for all to hear. He is curious and hopes that maybe Simon will actually answer him. It feels like a set up to Louis, though, as if Simon knew he would fail. 

“I wanted to give you a chance to redeem yourself. You’ve always been like a son to me, and I didn’t want to have to kill you,” Simon tells him, actually sounding hurt by his own words. A chill runs up Louis' spine. He almost chokes on the word ‘son’. It feels like it stabs him in the chest. He isn’t anyone’s son. Not anymore. He never has been, it seems. Simon doesn’t care for him like a son. He probably never did. Simon only ever cared about himself, that much is clear to Louis now. 

“Kill me? Kill me for what?” Louis asks, even though he kind of already knows the answer. He wants Simon to say it, though. He wants to hear the words that he knows to be true. What he has been thinking since that fateful day at Carey’s house. The moment that shifted everything. Louis wouldn’t take it back even if he knew the path it would lead down. He can’t bring himself to care. He wouldn’t exchange anything for the following days he had with Harry. Louis doesn't want to think about what that could mean. 

“Your betrayal to me and the organization.” Lottie. Louis tries to feign confusion. Act like he has no idea what Simon is talking about. He creases his brows, getting ready to say just that before Simon rolls his eyes, beginning to speak once more. “Don’t lie to me Louis. I know you didn’t kill your sister like I had ordered. I know you jeopardized the entire organization because you couldn’t kill a fucking girl that means nothing to you. A girl who didn’t even look for you after you were gone. I know you didn’t kill her, so I brought you here in hopes that you could redeem yourself. Show me your loyalty once more. Kill him right now. I’ll even find your sister and offer her a care package of sorts. She will never need anything again. I can offer her safety and money. All you have to do is kill him.” 

Louis freezes. His sister. He could truly save his sister. He looks at Harry, finding that Harry has turned to face him, the barrel of the gun now pressed to his forehead. Harry has his eyes closed, tears streaming down his face as if he is just waiting for Louis to pull the trigger. Louis blinks back his own tears because he can’t believe Harry thinks he would do that. Harry also knows how much Louis cares for his sister, how much he didn’t want to hurt her, but Louis would never even consider killing Harry to reach that goal. No. He could never. 

“No. Fuck you,” Louis spits, coming to a decision and turning to train his gun on Simon. The older man looks surprised for a split second, his tiny black eyes widening. Louis also doesn't trust Simon’s promise. Not even a tiny bit. Simon has proven time and time again that he is manipulative. He will say whatever it takes to get Louis to do what he wants. No more. Louis will not do this. He will not kill Harry and he certainly won’t stand by Simon as he begins a sex trafficking operation. 

“Louis, think about what you will be losing,” Simon says, eyes traveling from the gun, to Louis’ face, then back again. Louis doesn't give a flying fuck what he will be losing. He doesn't have anything to lose anymore. He doesn't have a family. He doesn’t have the organization. He won’t have Harry. He has nothing to lose. Simon will kill him, but he refuses to be the reason that Harry dies today. He won’t. 

“You never planned to ransom Harry did you? You probably never sent the ransom letter. This was your plan all along. You knew who he was from the moment I brought him back, that’s why you were so diligent on keeping him safe. You never wanted money or art. You wanted power. You wanted to use him as fucking bait to kill your enemy,” Louis yells, his voice getting louder with each accusation. He can’t believe it didn’t dawn on him before. He feels so stupid. He was just in so much shock by the current turn of events he didn’t even have time to consider them. 

“Louis put the gun down, or I will blow your boyfriend up,” Simon threatens, but doesn't deny the accusation. Louis hates him. He hates him so much in this moment, he itches to strangle him. Simon shakes the denotation device at Louis, smiling because he thinks he has the upper hand. His thumb is on the button. Louis wonders if he could shoot him before his thumb can press the button, but he doesn't want to take that chance. Simon’s body could fucking fall on it. It wouldn't take much pressure to depress it, and then Harry is dead. Louis can’t let that happen. No. The very idea of seeing the light leave Harry’s eyes makes him want to scratch his body until it bleeds. 

The next thing Louis knows, his jaw hurts, his vision going blurry from the pain as his head gets jarred from a blow. Simon must have taken advantage of Louis’ distraction and thrown a punch. The bastard. When Louis turns his head back, grabbing his sore jaw with his free hand, Simon wraps his fingers around Louis’ wrist, trying to force his gun back towards Harry. Louis fights it, swinging the fist of his left hand towards Simon’s face. The older man blocks it easily. 

Louis uses Simon’s grip on him to his advantage, pulling Simon towards him and bringing his knee up, aiming for Simon’s groin. Simon dodges, loosening his grip on Louis’ left hand enough for him to rip it from his clutch. Right as Simon is about to take a deep breath to call for help, Louis punches his throat. Simon coughs out, trying to speak but he can’t. Louis used his left hand, so it’s not nearly as effective as his right hand would be, but it does the job, getting Simon to release his other hand. Louis advances on him, kicking him in the side, the denotation device dropping to the ground, clattering loudly as it hits the floor. Louis freezes, bracing his body in preparation for heat of a possible explosion from behind him. It never comes. 

Simon retaliates a moment later, punching at Louis which he easily blocks, landing another punch to Simon’s face, the crack of his jaw ringing throughout the room. Louis' eyes are on the detonator that is still laying on the ground, seemingly harmless if someone didn’t know the destruction it holds. Simon spits blood, using Louis’ distraction to tackle him to the ground. The gun is knocked out of Louis’ hand during the struggle, and Louis hears it slide across the hardwood floor behind him as the wind is knocked from his lungs. 

He doesn't have time to catch his breath because Simon is on him. He aims a punch at Louis’ face, but misses, his momentum bringing his body down on Louis. This is Louis’ chance. He doesn't have a ton of time, but he never does in these kinds of situations. He slips his hand into Simon’s jacket pocket, grabbing the key to Harry’s freedom. Simon rights himself a moment later, easily pulling Louis’ hand from his jacket as he does so. He doesn't even notice that Louis’ just pick-pocketed him, too wrapped up in the fight. 

Louis grips the key in his right hand, flipping it so the pointing part is wedge between the fingers in his fist. Louis takes a deep breath, aiming his fist at Simon’s eye. Simon lets out a raspy scream when the key slices his face, his voice still fucked up from Louis’ earlier blow to his throat. The bone of his jaw is visible, the jagged red cut open. Blood splatters all over Louis’ face, making him flinch. Louis hits him again, throwing his body off his own. He thinks he knocked him unconscious because he isn’t moving. Louis starts to get up, but he’s pushed down again by another body. 

Louis realizes who is on top of him, a gun trained to his forehead. Louis freezes, closing his eyes and opening them again. Harry’s dad. He can see Selley’s finger on the trigger, starting to squeeze it. This is it. This is when Louis dies. He doesn’t know if he was able to save Harry, but he assumes that Harry will be okay. His dad won’t actively kill him. Apparently he will allow someone else to kill him, though, which is almost just as bad. They are also still surrounded by Simon’s men. How they haven’t burst through the door yet is beyond Louis. 

“Dad!” Harry’s voice hits Louis’ ears, loud and stern. Selley turns his head, looking in the direction of the voice, and Louis does the same. His brows hit his hairline when he sees that Harry is holding Louis’ discarded gun, training on Selley. He is stepping closer to them, the gun gripped so tightly in his hand that his knuckles are turning white. It looks foreign and wrong, like looking at a picture where something is photoshopped into someone’s hands. It just doesn't look like it belongs there, and Louis can’t believe he is actually witnessing it. 

“Harry put that down before you hurt yourself,” Selley says, his tone condescending and dismissive. He turns his attention back to Louis, who is still gripping the key like a lifeline. It is. It’s Harry’s lifeline. It’s Harry freedom right now, and someone will have to pry it from his cold dead hands, which may end up being sooner rather than later. 

“No. Get off of him,” Harry demands, his words strong and unwavering. He has stepped even closer to them. Louis can see the flashing light of the bomb on the vest. He can watch Harry’s nostrils flair with emotion. He still looks scared, but there is a determination to his features that wasn’t there before. Louis feels like he is holding his breath at their exchange. This close, he can see that they do look a bit more alike, than he had initially thought. Selley and Harry have the same hairline. The same eye shape. 

“Harry, don't try to get involved in something you know nothing about,” Selley says in the same way a parent would talk to a small child who asks what sex is. Harry isn’t a child, though. He knows what the gun in his hands can do. He is well aware of what all this means. Harry probably doesn't exactly know how, but he now knows who his father is, and what he is capable of. He isn’t stupid, and Louis kind of wants to punch Selley for treating him that way. 

“Dad, put your gun down, and I’ll drop mine. Don’t hurt him. Just let us leave,” Harry offers, not taking his eyes away from his father long enough to even spare a glance at Louis. The intensity of the moment feels tangible somehow. Like a two ton weight sitting on top of their bubble, threatening to crush the walls at any moment. Louis feels like he is suffocating, as if he shouldn’t even be a part of it. 

“I can’t let him leave, Harry. Don’t be so fucking niave. He works for Simon. You can’t actually trust him,” Selley responds, looking at Louis with hate in his eyes. Louis wonders if he recognizes him at all. Does he know that he tried to drug Louis and sell him to the highest bidder. Does he remember the faces of the youth he robs? Probably not. They probably just all blur together for him, becoming green money bags and not actual people. 

“I can’t trust you either,” Harry retorts, and Louis wants to cheer. He never intended to turn Harry against his father. He had no idea that his father was even Selley. He knows their relationship hasn’t always been good, but this feels like the final nail in the coffin. It will never be the same after this, and Louis feels so bad for Harry. He understands this, though. He could never have a good relationship with his father after everything. He doesn't even think he would ever agree to see him if he could. 

“Yes you can. I’m your father. I have given you everything you ever wanted. He needs to die. This has to be done.” Selley begins squeezing the trigger again, and Harry looks panicked. He takes another step closer to his father, and Louis can see the tears welling in his green eyes. His features morph into anguish as he watches. He presses the barrel of Louis’ gun to Selley’s temple. Louis begins shaking his head. 

“Harry. Don’t!” Louis realizes how ironic this is. He knows that he has been wishing for this moment to come since the day he met Harry, for the moment that Harry would have to kill someone in defense. Louis just didn’t realize that he would be the person Harry would be defending. No. Louis can’t let this happen. He can’t allow Harry to become him. A killer. A monster. Louis licks his lips, continuing, “Just- Just let him kill me. He won’t hurt you. Let him kill me. Please. He’s right. It has to be this way.” 

“No. It doesn’t,” Harry responds, shaking his head, tears flying off his face. His whole body has begun to shake, but the gun is still trained on his father's temple, his finger on the trigger. Louis can see the hammer is pulled back, waiting for Harry to fire. It feels surreal, as if Louis is watching it from the outside of his body. Harry opens his mouth to speak again, “Let him go, Dad.” 

“Why? Because you love him? Jesus fucking christ, you’re so fucking stupid. You should listen to your little boyfriend. He knows he’s gonna die regardless of what you say.” Louis’ entire body stops working at Selley’s mention of the word ‘love’. He doesn’t even remember how to breathe, or how to push blood through his veins. Love. Does Louis love him? Is it too soon? Does Harry love Louis? He must at least have some sort of feelings for him to even be considering the possibility of killing his father for him. 

“Shut up, Dad! Shut the fuck up!” Harry screams, and Louis can feel the anger rolling off him in waves. He has never seen him look so angry, not even when he was screaming at Louis. Fat tears are streaming down his face, his hair looking wet with sweat. His skin is pale, almost translucent in the dull light of the study. He looks deranged, on the verge of snapping, and Louis is almost scared to see what happens to the person on the receiving end of his rage. 

“I can’t believe you fell in love with one of Simon’s fucking minions. I knew I should have forced you into the business when you were younger. Your mom wouldn’t let me, and now look what I have. A son who fell in love with one of Simon’s lackeys,” Selley says, as if it is the worst thing that he could ask for in a son. It resonates with the last words Louis’ own father said to him.  _ I have a son who fucks other men. That’s not a son. That’s a fucking daughter.  _

“Fuck you,” Harry spits, jerking Louis out of his memory. The image of his father’s body slowly morphs back into Selley’s, who is still on top of him, the barrel of his gun pressed firmly against Louis’ head. He is almost sure he has an indent from it at this point. It’s not the first time Louis has ever had a gun to his head. He’s no stranger to the sensation, but it’s still terrifying. It still makes you question who you are and your life decisions. 

“Put down the gun, Son. You’re not gonna shoot me. You’re too much of a pansy. You don’t have it in you,” Selley says, turning his attention back to Louis. He begins to slowly squeeze the trigger, and Louis closes his eyes, preparing himself for the blinding pain, the sound of a bullet entering his skull, how he imagines it will feel when he dies. He hears the familiar loud shot of a gun, his ears ringing from the sound, but no pain ever comes. Is it painless? Is Louis dead and doesn't even realize it? 

Louis opens his eyes to find the gruesome sight of Selley’s body going limp, his eyes lifeless, the side of his head almost completely blown off by a bullet. Holy fuck. No. Harry couldn’t have shot him. He quickly looks around the room, trying to find someone, anyone else who could have been responsible for the man that lays bleeding beside him. He finds the only other conscious person in the room. Harry. Harry is holding the gun, his entire body shaking. The sound of the bullet still chimes throughout the room, like a bell. 

“Harry,” Louis says, pushing himself from the floor, slipping on blood before he finally finds his balance, running to Harry who collapses in his arms, fat tears streaming down his face. “Harry. Oh Princess. You didn’t have to do that. Fuck. You didn’t have to. Oh my god. Harry. Umm… lets get you out of this vest. How does that sound?” Louis knows he is rambling as he wipes the tears from Harry’s face. He thinks the other man is in shock. With a shaky hand, he shows Harry the key. It takes him three tries to push the key into the lock, clicking it open a moment later. He carefully pushes the vest off of Harry’s broad shoulders, gently setting the explosive device to the side. 

“I had to. I’m sorry. I couldn’t let him shoot you. I had to kill him. Oh god,” Harry cries, pulling away from Louis to vomit on the floor beside him. Louis rubs his back, running his fingers through his sweaty curls. He couldn't imagine how Harry is feeling right now. Well he can to an extent. He remembers the first time he saw someone die, and the first death he was responsible for. He has never killed someone he actually cared for, though. He doesn't know how he would react if he had to kill Simon, even knowing who Simon is. 

“Watts! Parsons! Get in here!” Simon’s voice is rough, barely recognizable to even Louis. He coughs again, and Louis watches as the older man slowly starts to stand. He is clearly looking around for the detonation device, and Louis has no idea where it went. He doesn't see it anywhere. A few seconds later, two men come bursting through the door. Before he even has a chance to hear Simon’s commands, Louis is pulling Harry from the floor. He runs over to the sliding glass door, finding it locked. Louis grabs the nearest heavy thing, a metal chair, and throws it at the glass. It shatters, glass flying all around them as Louis tries to shield himself from the shards. 

“There is nothing out that way. Just the cliff then the ocean,” Harry says, as Louis quickly steps over the glass. The air outside is laden with the familiar aroma of salt, and he can hear the ocean waves as they crash into rocks. He bets the view is breathtaking in the daytime, and when they aren’t about to be shot at by men carrying guns. 

“We can’t stay in here,” Louis responds, glancing behind him to find guns trained on them. He grabs Harry’s hand pulling him out the door right as shots are fired at them. The cold air hits Louis, pulling the air from his chest. The light spilling out of the house eventually disappears, losing its battle to the looming darkness that is surrounding them. The waxing moon provides just enough light for them to run through dozens of trees, dead grass and earth crunching quietly beneath their feet. 

Louis’ lungs are burning from the cold air, his muscles already cramping, not ready for this amount of physical activity, but he pushes himself to keep going, gripping Harry’s hand in his as Harry leads them. He probably knows this area well, so Louis trusts him with this. He doesn't know if they are being followed, but he is sure they are. Simon and his men are probably hot on their heels, ready to shoot as soon as they get them in their sights. It feels like they run for miles, when really it's only a hundred yards at most. He feels Harry pull hard on his hand a moment later, stopping him in his tracks. 

“The edge,” Harry yells, and it’s just in time because Louis starts to teeter on the ledge of a cliff, almost falling. He would have ran headlong over it if Harry hadn’t stopped him. “What do we do?” Louis can hear the desperation in Harry’s question, his voice wavering with uncertainty. He is looking at Louis for answers, his eyes wide and scared in the little bit of light that the moon provides. Louis looks back, not being able to see the house anymore, but he can hear the voices of Simon’s men communicating. They sound nearby, probably just moments away from finding them. 

“Is there a way around?” Louis asks, eyes scanning the area. He can’t see much though, it’s too dark. The waxing moon does very little to provide any real guidance. Louis wishes it was full because then he might actually be able to see the men around them, or ocean below them. It is also a benefit because they are hidden by the darkness, but they can’t stay here forever. Simon and his men will eventually locate them. It’s inevitable. They probably already have the place surrounded. 

“No. There is a fence all along the parameter. We will never make it without either Simon or one of Dad’s men finding us. They won’t kill me, but they will kill you,” Harry responds, shaking his head. Louis almost suggests that anyways, but he knows Harry would never agree. Harry killed his dad, so that Louis would live. He would never agree to a plan that could potentially see Louis dead. 

“How cold do you think the water is?” Louis asks, peering over the edge. He can’t see anything. Just inky darkness that leaves an uneasy feeling in his gut. The unknown. 

“Very. The current is also strong,” Harry responds, his voice hesitant. He must know what Louis is thinking. It’s really their only choice. They can’t go back. The longer they stay here, the bigger their chance of being shot. Time is running out, slipping through their fingers, back to being an intangible being. 

“Do you know if there are rocks down there? Are you a strong swimmer?” Louis asks, next. Louis can barely swim, but if Harry is strong then he will survive. Louis doesn't care about himself. He urges Harry to quickly answer, the voices behind them louder. He sees what could only be a shining flashlight, moving in and out of the trees. They don’t have a lot of time to spare, but they never have. They seem to have somehow made an enemy out of time. 

“I don’t remember. It’s been so long since I looked over the edge. I am a strong swimmer, though. A very good swimmer. You said you aren’t though, right?” Harry returns, his own question rising over the sound of ocean waves crashing into the rocks. Louis swallows, his fear paralysing him. He tries to take a deep breath. Tell himself that everything will be okay. It’s a lie, though. Clinging to false hope and empty promises will get them nowhere in this. 

“Not really, if I’m honest. I kind of know how, but I’ve never swam in the ocean. Never had the opportunity,” Louis admits, fear beginning to grip his body, threatening to stop his racing heart. He takes a deep breath, his hand shaking in Harry’s. He hates heights. He hates deep water. He hates the unknown. This is mixing all of his fears into one. He can’t even believe he is considering it, but it’s their best chance at survival. 

“We can’t…” Harry starts, but Louis cuts off the objection with a kiss. He can’t stop thinking about what Harry’s dad had said, about how Harry loves him. Louis doesn’t know if he has ever been truly loved. Maybe respected, but love is completely different. It’s only been a week, but he is going to dive into it, quite literally. If he is even considering doing something this crazy, then he has to love him right? 

“We don’t have any choice. We can’t go back, all we can do is go forward. Do you trust me, Harry?” Louis asks, trying to muster up some confidence to put into his tone. He thinks he falls short even though Harry is nodding his head in agreement. Louis knows he trusts Harry. He has to win this. If one of them survives this, it will be Harry, which is what Louis wanted all along. For Harry to live. 

“Yes. I’m scared Louis. What if we die? What if you die? We could hit a rock. We could drown. We could die of hypothermia if we do manage to swim out.” Harry’s voice is on the verge of hysteria, words coming out much faster than anything Louis has ever heard from him. Those are all good questions. Louis is asking himself the same things. They don’t have a choice, though. They are out of options. 

“Shhh. Shhh… it’s okay. Princess. It’s okay. I promise,” Louis hushes, kissing Harry again. He can’t promise, though. He can’t promise anything right now. He can’t promise life. He can’t promise time. He can’t promise a goddamned thing, but all he has are false promises. False hope. Everything he can give isn’t guaranteed, but he has to try to give it anyways. He will give every bit of himself to this, and just hope that it’s enough. Hope that he can get them through this because Harry is looking at him as if he can. 

“Can we fly?” Harry asks, his voice so small it almost gets swept away in the ocean breeze. It cracks with the last word, unsure of their fate. Louis can’t see them, the moon having disappeared behind some clouds, but he can hear the tears that coat the question. Louis wants to say ‘yes’. He wants to promise that they will sprout wings when they jump and fly to their home. They don’t have a home anymore. The only home they have left is each other, so maybe they can fly home. 

“We can try,” Louis responds, gripping Harry’s hand. They swing their hands as they silently countdown, each sway like the pendulum on a clock, ticking the seconds to their doom. Louis looks behind them, seeing the silhouettes of men close, too close. He takes one last deep breath, screaming “I love you, Harry'' as he jumps the sound of a gunshot adding a period to his confession. Harry follows him off the cliff, their hands never disconnecting. He doesn't know if Harry heard his final words. He can’t think about that right now. He is falling in the vastness of space, an inky darkness surrounding them. It feels like flying. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now THAT'S a cliffhanger.... *dodges every single thing you throw at me... Jesus fuck was that NIALL?*
> 
> Remember if you k-word me, you'll never know how it end. 
> 
> See you November 26th!!! 
> 
> I know you won't believe me, but I really do love you all xx

**Author's Note:**

> As always, kudos and comments are always welcome! They keep us alive. 
> 
> If you have any questions or concerns or just want to talk to me about this fic or any of my fics, you can follow me on social media. 
> 
> Twitter: Wicked_Archer  
> Tumblr: Wicked-Archer


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